“You spent eight years spending my mother’s money,” I said.

“I ran the estate office,” he spat. “I dealt with the tenants, the repairs, the taxes.”

“You did nothing but sign your name to her checks,” I said.

Mark laughed, a sharp, bitter sound.

“We’ll see what a judge thinks about that,” he said.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“I am saying I want my share,” Mark said. “If you want a divorce, you are going to pay for it.”

“The estate does not split, Mark,” Thomas said quietly from the corner.

Mark didn’t look at Thomas.

“I don’t care about your little legal games, Bell,” Mark said, pointing a finger at me. “I want half of Hartwell House.”

“You aren’t entitled to a single brick,” I said.

“I will file the papers tomorrow morning,” Mark said, his voice rising. “I will sue you for every dime this estate is worth.”

He leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale whiskey.

“A judge will look at my years of service to this family,” Mark said. “They will see a loyal husband who kept this place running while you sat in your room.”