“Do not start what, Hudson?” I asked as I turned my chair around to face him. “Should I not explain the reimbursement agreement or the fact that your mother has spent years calling this the family estate while sitting in chairs I paid for?”
Hudson did not answer because he never knew what to say when the cold facts were laid bare before him. This enormous white house with its six bedrooms and designer kitchen had become the center of a story he told his clients and friends to prove his success.
The truth was that the down payment came almost entirely from a separate account I had kept throughout our marriage. That money was the settlement I received after a trucking company sent an exhausted driver in a vehicle with no brakes onto the highway, resulting in the death of my father, Hank.
Hudson knew exactly where every single dollar came from because he had sat with me in meetings and promised he would never touch that money. However, his promise only lasted until this specific house went up for sale and he became obsessed with impressing his wealthy social circle.