“She’s going to steal my father’s painting,” I said, my chest tightening.

“Not if the house doesn’t belong to you anymore,” Molly said. “If the cash buyer takes possession, they can’t touch anything without committing trespassing and theft.”

“I need that signing link,” I said, tapping my screen repeatedly to refresh my email.

The seconds felt like hours.

On the screen, Karen reached up and lifted the painting off the wall.

She set it carefully against the sofa.

Diane was walking through the dining room, touching the silver candlesticks on the sideboard.

My phone vibrated.

The email from Jennifer had arrived.

*Signing Document: Deed of Transfer and Bill of Sale.*

I tapped the link.

The interface loaded, showing a yellow flag where my digital signature was required.

My hand was cold as I dragged my finger across the glass to sign my name.

I signed the first document.

Then the second.

Then the third.

With each stroke of my finger, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders, replaced by a cold, sharp focus.

I reached the final page—the affidavit of title.