“The North Dallas development,” she said, her irritation finally breaking through her composed exterior.

“The interest rates adjusted early. It is a minor cash flow issue.”

I knew that development.

It was a strip center off the tollway that had been fifty percent vacant for two years.

“If the bank calls that note, the trust will have to liquidate the remaining commercial holdings,” I said.

Gloria scoffed, pulling her designer coat tighter around her shoulders.

“We have plenty of assets,” she said.

“The Highland Park house alone is worth eight million.”

I felt a cold thrill run down my spine, but I kept my face entirely blank.

“The family home,” I said softly.

“Exactly,” she said, looking down her nose at me.

“We have equity. We have history. The Ralston name still means something at Texas National Bank.”

She did not know that Texas National had sold that specific portfolio to an investment group called Blue Star Holdings six months ago.

And Blue Star Holdings was a shell company funded entirely by my private trust.

“So you’re going to use the house as backup?” I asked.