Outside, the dry wind stirred up dust devils across the gravel parking lot.

The air conditioner in the wall unit rattled, struggling against the afternoon heat.

“How much do they owe?” I asked.

“The remaining balance on the principal is four hundred and eighty thousand dollars,” Voss said.

“And they are four months delinquent?”

“Yes. The grace period ended last week.”

“Why hasn’t Apex foreclosed?” I asked.

“Because the sole beneficiary of Apex is you, Maren,” Voss said. “The decision to initiate foreclosure rests entirely in your hands.”

I sat back in my metal desk chair.

The faded green paint on the cinderblock walls of my office felt cold despite the heat outside.

For years, Dorian had looked down on my father’s military service, calling him a man with no real business sense.

Dorian had paraded around Dallas in tailored Italian suits, buying Brielle luxury SUVs and paying for her trips to Europe.

All of it was built on a foundation my father had quietly bought out from under them.

“If I foreclose, they lose the house,” I said.