He listened to the response, his expression slowly turning from anger to utter confusion.

“No, don’t cancel the application yet,” he pleaded. “Let me call my mother. There must be a filing error.”

He ended the call and stared at the phone in his hand as if it had betrayed him.

He didn’t notice me standing in the doorway.

He began scrolling through his contacts, his thumb moving frantically.

“Gloria,” he said when the call connected. “Mom. I need you to tell me who owns the Highland Park house.”

He listened, his brow furrowing.

“No, the bank just ran a title search,” he said. “They say the Ralston Trust doesn’t own it. They say a company called Bluebird Trust bought the deed two years ago.”

The kitchen phone began to ring, the sharp sound echoing through the quiet house.

Graham ignored it, his eyes fixed on the desk.

“Mom, listen to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “If we don’t own this house, I can’t get the loan. The office lease is in default.”

He stopped talking, listening to his mother’s reaction on the other end.