Greg narrowed his eyes at David.
“You told me this was your family trust property and you were the executive.”
David shrank back, stuttering.
“I I mean, it will be eventually.”
Greg scoffed in disgust. He grabbed his hard hat.
“Unbelievable. Boys, pack it up. We’re out of here.”
“Wait, Greg,” I called out softly. “Since my house is already torn apart, I need a contractor. I want the kitchen restored, but with the dark cherrywood cabinets I actually like. And I want the master bedroom put exactly back to how it was. New drywall, fresh paint. Forget the bathroom extension.”
Greg paused, sizing me up.
“I will write you a personal check from a verified account right now for the materials and your crew’s labor for the week,” I offered. “But you work strictly for me. You do not take a single instruction from them.”
Greg looked at the panicked faces of David and Sarah, then back at my calm demeanor.
He nodded slowly.
“Dark cherry cabinets. I can get those. We work for you, Ms. Wells.”
Sarah gasped, stepping forward.
“You can’t do that. We picked out white shaker cabinets. My mother hates dark cherry.”
I turned to my daughter-in-law, my expression hardening just a fraction.
“Your mother isn’t moving in, Sarah, and neither are you.”
The reality of the situation hit Sarah like a physical blow.
She stood in the middle of the dustcovered floor, her mouth opening and closing.
“You can’t just kick my parents to the curb,” Sarah yelled, finally finding her voice. “They already listed their house. Where are they supposed to go?”
“That sounds like a logistical problem you should have solved before gutting my house,” I replied.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a local number I had saved years ago.
“Hi, Mike. It’s Hannah from Shoreline Drive. Yes, I need the locks changed on the front door, the back door, and the garage side entrance today if possible. Great. See you in an hour.”
David rushed forward, his hands raised in a pleading gesture.
