By morning, Iris had already dug into public records.
Yes, Damon’s name was on the deed.
But he didn’t understand how that deed had actually been funded.
At 8:12 a.m., he banged on my door. “I said tomorrow! Don’t push me!”
I opened it halfway. “I heard you,” I said. “You’ll hear from me soon.”
He scoffed. “With what power? You don’t have any.”
I nearly laughed.
Because he had no idea.
Three days later, in a hotel suite, I sat signing documents with Iris when my phone lit up with Damon’s name.
His voice wasn’t arrogant anymore. It was shaking.
“Listen—we need to talk. Now.”
I looked at the divorce papers and replied calmly, “No.”
I kept my voice neutral. “Which accounts?”
“All of them!” he snapped. “My checking, my business line, even our joint—”
“Our joint one?” I repeated.
He swallowed. “They also said my mortgage didn’t draft. And some security guy is here saying I need to leave until the ‘ownership review’ is done.”
Iris raised her brow—our strategy was working.
“Ownership review,” I echoed.
Damon’s voice cracked. “What did you do?”
“Remember when you said it was your house?” I asked.
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