Dad folded his hands behind his back.

‘Eric and Shannon are expecting their first child.

They need more space than their current one-bedroom gives them.

Meanwhile, you have a second bedroom sitting there for one person.’

‘It’s my office,’ I said.

‘I work from home most of the week.’

Mom made a brisk little motion with one hand.

‘People work from coffee shops all the time now.

You’re young.

You’ll figure it out.’

I looked at her, then back at Dad.

‘I manage a team.

I’m on calls all day.

I need privacy, secure files, an actual setup.’

‘Eric has a family starting,’ Dad said, rolling over my answer as if it were static.

He gestured toward Shannon’s stomach.

‘So we’ve decided they’ll move into Westbrook on November first.

You have until the end of the month to find another place.’

The sentence hung in the room for a second before it truly landed.

It was too neat.

Too calm.

Too entitled.

My father had just informed me that I was being removed from my home, and the room was waiting for me to behave graciously.

‘You’ve decided,’ I said.

‘The family has decided,’ he corrected.

Eric stopped pacing and leaned an elbow on the mantel with that familiar smugness he wore whenever Dad was clearing a path for him.

‘Come on, Cass.

Don’t make this a whole ordeal.’

I turned to him.

‘A whole ordeal?’

‘You’re single.

No kids.

Good job.

You’ll be fine anywhere.

Shannon and I need the extra room, and we can’t afford market rent on a two-bedroom right now.’

‘And you think I can?’

Shannon spoke softly, then visibly regretted it.

‘Eric said you’re doing really well.’

I stared at her.

Eric had never asked what I made.

I had never told him.

The idea of them speculating about my salary over dinner, treating my career like part of their housing strategy, made heat climb my neck.

‘My finances are not part of this discussion,’ I said.

‘When family assets are involved, they are,’ Dad snapped.

The executive calm was starting to fray.

‘Your grandfather intended that building to serve the family.

Right now your brother’s family needs it most.’

There it was.

In my father’s world, need and entitlement had always been dangerously close when Eric was involved.

I asked the question that suddenly mattered more than anything else in that room.

‘Have you actually read the trust documents recently?’

Mom gave me a tight, dismissive wave.

‘Your father manages all that.

He knows what your grandfather wanted.’

‘I’d still like to see the actual documents,’ I said.

‘The trust papers.

The deed.

Whatever legal authority you think allows you to remove me.’

Dad’s face began to redden from the collar up.

‘You do not need paperwork.

I am telling you as your father and as trustee.’

‘Then I’m requesting it as the current resident,’ I said.

‘If you’re trying to force me out, put it in writing.’

Mom’s voice went shrill.

‘It’s not forcing you out.

It’s family helping family.’

‘Then documentation shouldn’t be a problem.’

The room changed after that.

The air felt charged, the way it does right before lightning lands somewhere close.

Dad dropped into the low warning register that used to frighten me when I was a kid.

‘Do