Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3 — List It Today
I did not yell.
I did not argue.
I did not beg my son to remember who I had been to him.
I simply closed the watch box.
Vanessa swirled her wine.
“Oh, Leonard,” she said lightly, “don’t be so sensitive. Ryan is under pressure.”
I looked at her.
Then at the guests who had watched everything and chosen silence.
That was the strange thing about wealthy rooms.
Everyone sees cruelty.
No one wants to be the first decent person.
Ryan adjusted his jacket like the matter was finished.
“You should go,” he said.
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
For the first time all night, confusion crossed his face.
I walked toward the door with the small brown gift box in my hand.
Halfway there, my phone vibrated.
My attorney’s name appeared.
I answered before stepping into the foyer.
“Martin,” I said quietly. “List the Beverly Hills property. Today.”
Behind me, Ryan laughed once.
“What property?”
I turned back.
His smile weakened.
Vanessa lowered her glass.
“The one you’re standing in,” I said.
Ryan stared at me.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I have never been more serious.”
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
I looked at him one last time.
“You never owned the house, Ryan.”
Then I walked out into the cold night.
The mansion doors closed behind me.
For the first time in years, I felt no anger.
Only grief.
May you like
Because selling a house is easy.
Accepting that your son became a stranger inside it is not.
