Victor tapped his heavy gold signet ring against the edge of the mahogany table, three slow, rhythmic beats.
“A developer would pay a fortune for a lot on Hawthorne Lane,” he said, looking at me. “The land value alone has tripled since the eighties.”
“The house is not for sale,” I said.
Melissa cleared her throat, adjusting her watch strap again.
“Dad is just making an observation, Ruth,” she said, her tone overly cheerful. “He knows how much the history means to you.”
Victor smiled, though his eyes remained cool and calculating. He tapped his ring against the wood once more.
“Everyone sells eventually, Ruth,” he said.
Daniel kept his head down, cutting his meat with precise, quiet strokes. He did not look at his wife or his father-in-law.
“The neighborhood is changing,” Victor continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. “Some of these older properties require more maintenance than a single woman can manage.”
“I managed thirty-two years,” I said.
“Of course,” Victor said, his eyes locking onto mine. “But things change. People move on.”
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the scrape of fork against plate.
