MY SON HIT ME 30 TIMES IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE… SO THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE HE WAS SITTING IN HIS OFFICE, I SOLD THE HOUSE HE THOUGHT WAS HIS

Amber’s voice cut in from his end. “Give me the phone.”

A second later, she was on the line. “This is harassment. You’re trying to control us. We have rights—”

“No,” I said evenly. “You had privileges.”

That shut her up.

I continued, “The house belongs to Redwood Capital. Always has. I let you live there because I believed you’d build something meaningful inside it. Instead, you filled it with arrogance.”

Brandon came back on, his voice smaller now. “Where are we supposed to go?”

For the first time, I felt something shift—not pity, but clarity.

“That’s a question you should’ve asked yourself before you raised your hand to the only person who made that life possible.”

There was a long pause.

Then, quieter, “You’re really doing this.”

“I already did.”

I hung up before he could say anything else.

Three days later, I drove past the house.

The luxury cars were gone.