Ethan looked at me with a pleading expression, then turned toward the front door.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was a text from my real estate attorney, David.

The message was brief.

*The county clerk just finished indexing the filing. It is official.*

I stared at the screen, a cold sense of calm washing over me.

Linda was in the living room, turning on the lamps.

“Ethan!” she called again. “Get the papers. We don’t have time for Sophia’s tantrums.”

Ethan reached for the doorknob to go to his car.

The brass handle clicked as he turned it.

Just then, his phone, which he had left on the console table, lit up with an incoming call.

The caller ID displayed a number I didn’t recognize, but the area code was local.

I picked it up before Ethan could reach back inside.

“Give me that,” Ethan said, his voice tight.

He reached for the phone, but I pulled my hand back, out of his grasp.

The call stopped ringing, and a notification for a voicemail popped up on the screen.