“I do not care what she thought.” My voice cracked like a whip between us, and for a second even he looked surprised. “For once in your life, Grant, this is not about managing the mood of the youngest woman in the room.”
The room smelled like paper and cedar and the faint smoke from the fireplace no one had lit since Christmas. Outside, a sprinkler clicked on in the front yard. Water hissed over the roses. Everything ordinary kept going.
He tried a different angle. “The marriage has been over for a long time.”
“No,” I said. “Your honesty has.”
He stared at me, then looked at the files again. “What exactly did James tell you?”
Not Dad. James.
There it was again, that tiny shift from family to transaction.
“He told me enough,” I said.
“That man never trusted me.”
I actually smiled at that. “Turns out he had excellent instincts.”
Grant’s expression hardened. “He controlled everything. This house, your trust, every financial decision. Do you know how emasculating that was?”
I let out a breath through my nose. “Ah. Good. We’ve arrived at your true feelings.”