He swallowed. “They also said my mortgage didn’t draft. And some security guy is here saying I need to leave until the ‘ownership review’ is done.”
Iris raised her brow—our strategy was working.
“Ownership review,” I echoed.
Damon’s voice cracked. “What did you do?”
“Remember when you said it was your house?” I asked.
“Because it is!”
Iris slid a folder toward me. I didn’t need to read it.
I said, “Not really. Not when the down payment came from my funds.”
Damon stuttered. “You… transferred money once. That was your savings.”
“That wasn’t savings,” I said. “It was compensation.”
He scoffed. “From what? You’re a consultant.”
I exhaled. “I’m a senior executive. I make $1.5 million a year.”
Silence.
Then a tiny voice: “That’s not funny.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.
“Because I wanted a partner. Not a dependent.”
He scrambled to recover. “We can fix this. I was stressed. My mom—”
“No. You meant what you said.”
Iris slid over another document—our emergency motion.
Damon’s voice turned to pleading. “Please tell them to leave.”
“Pack a bag,” I told him steadily. “You’re the one leaving.”
Damon gasped. “You can’t kick me out!”