“But this is his house.”

She laughed. “Not for long. He’s 86. When he finally kicks the bucket, this place’ll be worth a fortune. I won’t let some crippled dog drag down the property value.”

Every word was caught on camera.

The next night, I set the trap.

I invited Linda to dinner at the hotel, claiming Dad asked me to “smooth things over.” She arrived in pearls, smug as ever.

“So,” she said, “did we finally convince him to dump the dog?”