“My mother doesn’t need to be involved in every minor business decision I make,” he said.

He took a quick sip of the hot coffee and winced.

“I need the contact information for the trustee,” he said. “The one who handles the lease payments.”

“I don’t have that, Graham,” I lied smoothly. “Your mother’s lawyers set all of that up.”

“Then I’ll find it myself,” he said.

He set his coffee cup down with a hard thud and walked toward his home office.

I finished packing the girls’ lunches and took them upstairs to get dressed.

By the time I came back down, Graham was on the phone in his study.

The door was cracked open, and his voice carried into the hallway.

“Look, Ted, it’s a prime Highland Park property,” Graham was saying. “The appraisal value is at least four million.”

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke.

“No, the title is clear,” Graham insisted, his voice growing strained. “It’s held in a private trust. I am the sole beneficiary of that trust.”

I stood just outside the doorway, leaning against the wall.