I felt the air leave my lungs.

The chapel seemed to tilt slightly.

“The estate,” I whispered. “The house.”

“The historic Caldwell house is listed as collateral,” Julian said.

I looked at Graham, who refused to meet my eyes.

“Graham,” I said. “Tell me he’s reading this wrong.”

Graham remained silent, his hand gripping the back of the pew so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“He can’t answer you, Evelyn,” Sloane said from the doorway. “Because he signed the final foreclosure warning last Tuesday.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

The house where I had grown up, the house where my father had died, was about to be taken.

“You knew,” I said, turning to Marjorie. “You knew he was doing this.”

“I did what I had to do to protect my son,” Marjorie said, her voice finally showing a crack of emotion.

“You ruined us,” I said.

“We are not ruined yet,” Marjorie said, stepping closer to the altar. “There is still the church land.”

Pastor Whitcomb stiffened.

“The church land is not yours to touch, Marjorie,” the pastor said.