Page 122 of What Remains of Grace

29

The Buyout

Jenna had never seen so many parts of her life squeezed into Manila folders.

Receipts. Invoices. Bank statements. Before-and-after photos. The appraiser’s report. The rally ledger. Four months of her existence reduced to labeled tabs and tiny binder clips.

She sat at the narrow conference table outside Courtroom 3B, hands folded on top of the thickest folder. Across from her, Ms. Ramirez had her hair in a sleek bun, glasses low on her nose, and was flipping through the final draft of the settlement packet.

“You’ve done excellent documentation, Ms. Hart,” the attorney said without looking up. “Judges love paper. If they could marry exhibits, they would.”

Jenna huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh and almost a sob. “If this doesn’t work, I’m filing a motion to crawl under the floor.”

“That’s not a recognized remedy under Florida civil procedure,” Ramirez said dryly. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

Emmie sat beside Jenna, one leg bouncing like it was powered by caffeine and fury. She wore black slacks, a white blouse, and the expression of a girl who had seen too much of the world and was unimpressed by all of it.

“Walk me through this one more time,” Jenna said to her attorney. “Like I’m five. I don’t want to get on the stand and accidentally say something that sounds like ‘please take my house.’”

“You’re not five,” Emmie muttered. “You’re thirty-six and terrifying.”

“Thirty-four,” Jenna corrected automatically, then winced. “God, I’m old.”

“Vintage millennial,” Emmie corrected.

“Focus,” Ramirez said, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She laid out three documents in front of Jenna, tapping each one in turn.

“Exhibit A,” she said. “The jointly ordered certified appraisal. It establishes the fair market value of the combined parcels, this house and the bakery, at seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Jenna nodded. She’d read that report so many times the words were burned into her brain.

“Exhibits B-1 through B-19,” Ramirez continued, indicating the fat packet behind it. “Itemized ledger of your capital improvements since Troy vacated the property eight months ago. Invoices, receipts, canceled checks. Total: one hundred twenty-three thousand, four hundred and eleven dollars and nine cents.”

“Don’t forget the nine cents,” Emmie said. “We bled for those nine cents.”

“And Exhibit C,” Ramirez went on. “Your sworn affidavit and supporting bank records showing that you, and only you, have paid the mortgage, property taxes, insurance, and major repairs during the period following Mrs. Bailey’s death. Zero help from the plaintiff.”

Jenna swallowed. “Or the law…”

“The law,” Ramirez said, slipping into her courtroom voice, “is on our side in a partition action when it comes to equitable credits. Co-tenants are entitled to a contribution for necessary expenditures and improvements that enhance the value of the property. In English, the court doesn’t love it when an absentee owner tries to cash out on value created entirely by someone else.”

“And Troy?” Emmie asked. “What’s he trying to cash out on again?”

“Twenty-five percent,” Ramirez said. “Though once the court accounts for the renovations and carrying costs, his actual share is considerably lower.”

“Hence . . .” Emmie prompted.

“Hence the settlement offer.” Ramirez slid the document across the table. “One hundred twenty thousand dollars in exchange for a full buyout. He gets paid. You get clear title. Everyone avoids a trial.”

“It still feels like we’re rewarding him,” Emmie muttered.

Jenna stared at the number on the page.

“We’re not rewarding him,” Ramirez said. “We’re buying peace. There’s a difference.” Jenna stared at the number on the settlement sheet.

$120,000.00

PAYABLE TO: TROY BAILEY