“Jason put this house in my name over a year ago, after he got sick. We anticipated this situation, and we made sure everything was legal. You have no claim here. If you want this house, you can buy it from me — for the price I paid Jason, plus the four years of mortgage payments I made on it.”
Charles stepped forward, his voice low and threatening. “You know we can’t afford that, you selfish little… You know Jason would have wanted us to have this house. Transfer the mortgage to our name, and we’ll take over the payments. That’s my best offer. Otherwise, we’ll take you to court.”
I met his gaze without flinching. “Do what you have to, Charles. But before you make your next move, there’s something you should know.”
They froze, a flicker of uncertainty passing over their faces. Good. Let them feel even a fraction of the fear they made Jason feel all those years ago.
I walked over to the sideboard and opened a drawer, one that had become all too familiar in the past month. Inside was a worn, creased envelope.
I held it up — simple, yet heavy with meaning.
“This,” I said, walking back toward them, “is what Jason left for you. His final letter.”
Susan’s eyes lit up with a mixture of hope, greed, and desperation. “A letter?” she asked, her voice quivering. “What does it say?”
I handed it to her, watching her fingers tremble as she took it. “Why don’t you read it and find out?”
She hesitated, then slowly opened the envelope, pulling out the single sheet of paper inside.
As she began to read, Charles and Jason’s brother, Mark, leaned in, their faces a mix of anticipation and something darker.
