Before she could answer, Hank strolled in from the kitchen, a whiskey tumbler in hand, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Good news,” he said. “I sold the garage.”

I blinked, the world tilting on its axis. “You what?”

He took a dramatic sip and held up a folder like a trophy. “Three million dollars. Some national outfit, Bison Tire & Lube. They’re turning it into one of their flagship shops.”

I laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “You can’t sell what you don’t own.”

“Actually, I can,” he said, his confidence slick and reptilian. “See, your mom gave me power of attorney during her surgery last year. That gave me legal authority over her forty-nine percent.”