But emotionally.
Papers were scattered on the dining table.
Drawers left open.
Cups half full on counters.
Dad stood in the middle of it all, red-faced, arms waving as he argued with a man in a navy blazer holding a folder and a clipboard.
“You don’t get it,” Dad barked. “This whole thing is just a misunderstanding. My son owns the place. It’s all family. There was no fraud.”
The man didn’t flinch.
“Sir, you filed legal paperwork asserting ownership over a property that, according to county records, belongs solely to Nathan Ellis, listed under a business entity. You submitted forged documentation, which—”
“I didn’t forge anything,” Dad snapped. “I just… I made some copies, adjusted some dates. That’s not the same.”
I cleared my throat loud enough for both of them to stop.
Dad turned.
Face drained of color.
“Nathan,” he said, voice dropping like a stone. “Good. You can explain. Tell him it’s fine. We’re family.”
I stared at him.
At the man who raised me with backhanded compliments and constant reminders that I’d never be smart enough to succeed.
At the man who had just risked jail time using my name to squeeze a few extra months out of the fantasy life he’d been living off my generosity.
“No,” I said calmly. “I won’t be explaining anything. You’re on your own.”
The man in the blazer gave me a respectful nod.
“Mr. Ellis, I assume you’re aware of the attempted second mortgage application.”
“Just found out,” I replied. “And I’ll be consulting my attorney immediately. If there’s any liability being considered here, I’ll need a formal report for my records.”
“I can get you a copy,” he said, flipping open his folder. “It’s not pretty.”
Dad stepped forward, panic leaking through his tough-guy veneer.
“Come on, Nathan. Don’t do this. You know I didn’t mean any harm. I just needed time.”
“Time?” I repeated. “Like the years I gave you while you ridiculed me. Like the dinners where you laughed about my lack of a degree while spending the money I earned. That kind of time?”
Mom appeared in the hallway behind him.
Arms crossed.
Face unreadable.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t defend.
Just watched.
Megan came in a moment later, hovering awkwardly in the entryway.
For once, she had nothing sarcastic to add.
No smug grin.
No half joke to break the tension.
I walked to the kitchen, took in the granite counters, the glass backsplash Mom had chosen from a magazine I paid for.
I opened the fridge.
Empty, except for a bottle of wine and a takeout container.
Not a single thank-you note.
Not a single reminder that this was my house.
I turned back to them and said:
“I’ll give you until the end of the week. After that, the locks change. If you’re still here, I’ll let the sheriff escort you out. Oh, and any legal fallout from your little loan stunt? That’s yours to deal with.”
Dad opened his mouth, but I raised a hand.
“We’re done here.”
I walked out before they could say another word, pulled the door shut behind me, and got in my car.
I sat there for a minute, watching the front lights flicker on.