A voice called from the workshop. My assistant, Ava, popped her head out.
“Hey, the bank called,” Ava said. “The paperwork’s final, Ellie.”
“What paperwork? What are you doing?” Cheryl asked.
“The paperwork’s final, Ellie.”
“I bought the house,” I said, not taking my eyes off her.
“That house was mine,” she said, laughing bitter and sharp.
“It was,” I said. “Until you defaulted on the second mortgage. You took it out against the house while Dad was still alive — said it was for ‘repairs’ — then you spent it and stopped paying. Isn’t that why you’re here? For me to fix your mess?”
Her mouth parted, but no sound came.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I saw the auction online. I bought the house,” I said. “Through an LLC. You didn’t even see my name, did you?”
“You’re not going to live there!” she snapped.
“No,” I agreed. “But I’m converting it for women in trades, like me. That house is finally going to build something that matters.”
Inside, I went back and sat at my desk.
“I bought the house.”
On the shelf above it were the boots — clean now.
