“He was trying to drain the company before we could audit it,” I said.

“He was trying to leave you with a shell,” Gloria said. “But the court saw right through it. His corporate cards are useless now, and he can’t authorize a single wire transfer.”

On the flatbed, the white-painted walls of the master bedroom were strapped down tight under heavy yellow nylon webbing.

The truck began to roll slowly down the gravel driveway.

The tires crunched on the stones, a sound that had echoed through my life for fifteen years.

Now, it was the sound of departure.

“The house is gone, Gloria,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The last truck is pulling out of the driveway right now,” I said. “There’s nothing left but the concrete slab.”

“Good,” Gloria said. “That land belongs to you, Alexandra. Your father made sure of that.”

“It looks so big without the house,” I said, looking through the windshield at the empty expanse of grass and gray concrete.