Diane pushed her way past Brent, her face turning a deep, angry crimson.

“This is a scam!” she yelled, shaking her fist at Craig. “My son is the master of this estate! We are going to Miami in three hours, and we do not have time for this nonsense!”

“You can go to Miami,” Craig said. “But you can’t stay here. My crew is scheduled to begin the interior soft-demo and asbestos testing immediately.”

Behind Craig, the three other workers began carrying rolls of thick plastic sheeting and heavy toolboxes up the driveway.

On my screen, I watched Brent’s face pale.

He took his phone from his ear, tapped the screen frantically, and then held it to his head again.

A second later, my cell phone vibrated on Molly’s kitchen table.

I picked it up and answered.

“What did you do, Tessa?” Brent screamed into the line.

“I sold the house, Brent,” I said, my voice steady.

“You can’t sell it!” he shouted. “We’re married! That is marital property!”