“Get out of my house, Celeste,” I said, wiping the rain from my forehead.

“It isn’t your house yet, dear,” Celeste said, taking a slow sip of her drink. “Not until the probate court finalizes the transfer.”

The man in the suit stepped forward, opening his briefcase with a sharp click.

“Clara Vance?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am representing Crestwood Horizon LLC and Celeste Vance,” he said, handing me a thick packet of papers. “You are hereby served with an emergency petition for a temporary restraining order.”

I looked down at the documents in my hands.

The words *Injunction* and *Asset Restriction* were printed in bold black ink across the top page.

“What is this?” I demanded.

“The court has granted our petition,” the attorney said. “Pending a full hearing on your mental competency to manage the Vance estate, all assets linked to Blackthorn Ridge are frozen.”

“This is a lie,” I said, my voice rising. “You have no grounds for this.”

“We have Eleanor’s medical records from her final month,” Celeste said, her eyes narrowing. “She was on heavy pain medication. She didn’t know what she was signing when she deeded the ridge to you.”