I took a sip of coffee I didn’t want. The mug rattled faintly against its saucer, betraying my nerves.
“I’ve lived there for four years, Dad,” I said, because I already hated where this conversation was heading.
“Exactly.” He said it like that length of time was an indictment rather than a statement of fact. “You’ve been in the two-bedroom for four years now, paying utilities and a small monthly fee to the family trust that technically owns it.”
Technically. I almost choked on the word. The building wasn’t owned by any family trust, but my father didn’t know that. None of them did.
He folded his hands behind his back in a gesture I recognized from childhood—the stance he took when delivering pronouncements he expected no one to challenge. “Eric and Shannon are expecting their first child.” He gestured toward Shannon’s stomach, and she managed a nervous smile. “They need more space than their current one-bedroom can provide. Meanwhile, Cassie, you have two bedrooms all to yourself.”
