Chapter 8
The lake house was the real target.
My mother had left it to me in a trust.
A small wooden place outside Austin.
Not grand.
Not luxurious.
But the land around it had become valuable after a development company started buying nearby lots.
Daniel knew.
Of course he knew.
He had pretended to hate that house.
Too old.
Too far.
Too emotional.
Meanwhile, he had been negotiating behind my back with a developer named Victor Lang.
Karen found emails.
Daniel to Victor:
She is hesitant, but I can handle the signature.
The property will transfer through marital agreement.
Need closing fast before she changes lawyers.
Victor replied:
No clean signature, no deal.
Not my first family property issue.
Handle wife.
Handle wife.
I printed that email and stared at it for a long time.
Men like Daniel loved that word.
Handle.
Not respect.
Not ask.
Not tell.
May you like
Handle.
As if women were locked doors, wild animals, inconvenient documents.
