“Do you know what Bellweather Residential Partners is?”
The color drained from my father’s face.
My mother looked at him.
That was all I needed.
“You do,” I said.
My father recovered first.
“It’s one of Garrett’s companies.”
“It owns your house.”
My mother turned sharply.
“What is she talking about?”
“You knew,” I said to my father.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“It was temporary.”
“What was temporary?”
“Our financial situation.”
My mother stared between us.
“Martin?”
He looked older than he had the night before.
“My business failed,” he said. “Not partially. Completely. There were debts. Tax problems. We were going to lose the house.”
“When?” I asked.
“Seven years ago.”
The year I married Garrett.
My mother sank into the chair.
“You told me the restructuring worked.”
“It did,” my father said. “Because Garrett stepped in.”
“With my money.”
He looked at the floor.
