I sat thinking about Dad.
Six years before his death, he’d quietly transferred the deed to our five-acre Virginia property entirely into my name.
Not Logan’s or the Sterling family’s.
Mine.
Logan had laughed upon discovering it.
“Your dad’s little paranoia,” he’d joked.
I’d smiled and dismissed it.
That night, I finally understood.
Dad had left me an escape route.
The following morning, I visited my attorney, Dana Caldwell, and showed her Logan’s messages.
She read them carefully.
“Does Logan legally own the house?”
“No.”
She smiled slightly.
“Then why
