The attorney reviewed every document.

His expression became darker with each page.

Finally he leaned back.

"Mrs. Carter, your daughter has grounds for criminal complaints."

Delilah stared at him.

"What about the house?"

The attorney smiled.

"The house belongs to your mother."

For the first time in weeks, hope appeared in Delilah's eyes.

Because five years earlier, I had kept the deed in my own name.

Legally, Evan had no ownership.

None.

The attorney immediately filed emergency paperwork.

Three days later we arrived at the house with a court order.

Evan opened the door.

His mother stood behind him.

Both looked shocked.

"What are you doing here?" Evan demanded.

I handed him the document.

His face turned white.

"You can't do this."

"I already did."

His mother stepped forward.

"My son lives here!"

"No," I replied calmly.

"My daughter was supposed to live here."

The sheriff standing beside us spoke firmly.

"You have one hour to gather your belongings."

The shouting began immediately.

Threats.

Insults.

Excuses.

But the law didn't care.

One hour later, they were standing on the sidewalk surrounded by suitcases.

Exactly where they had left Delilah and Noah.

Evan glared at us.

"You'll regret this."

The attorney standing beside me smiled.

"No. You will."

Because earlier that morning, police investigators had opened a fraud case.

And they had already begun examining the financial records.

The deeper they looked, the worse it became.