Chapter 5: Options
The dining table seated six.
Victor sat at one end.
I sat across from him.
Daniel took the chair to my left and spent the first two minutes reading the deed document without looking up.
Margaret stood in the doorway and did not sit down.
"I'll stand," she said, when no one asked.
Victor opened a second document — a summary sheet from his attorney, single page, clean columns.
"There are three options," he said.
"My attorney laid them out.
I want Emily to hear all of them before anyone decides anything."
"I don't need your attorney's options," Margaret said.
"Margaret." His voice didn't rise.
"Sit down or leave the room.
Those are your two options."
She stayed in the doorway.
But she went quiet.
Victor turned the page toward me.
"Option one.
I proceed with the legal claim.
The house reverts to my name.
Any improvements made by a third party — meaning you — become part of the property and are absorbed into the asset.
You recover nothing."
"That's theft," Daniel said.
"That's property law.
I'm not saying it's fair.
I'm saying it's what happens if we go to court and nobody cooperates." He moved his finger to the second line.
"Option two.
I sell the house.
From the proceeds, Emily is reimbursed in full for documented renovation costs before any remainder is divided.
Margaret vacates within ninety days."
Margaret made a sound in the doorway.
Not words.
Just a sound.
"Option three," Victor continued.
"Margaret signs a formal acknowledgment of debt to Emily for the full renovation amount.
I transfer the deed to Daniel — only Daniel, not Margaret — on the condition that a repayment schedule to Emily is honored.
The house stays in the family.
Emily gets her money back over time."
I looked at the page.
The numbers were correct.
He had done his research.
"How do you know the exact amount?" I asked.
"Daniel told me.
Eight months ago, when he called asking if I would consider signing the deed over as a wedding gift." Victor glanced at his son.
"He didn't tell you he called me."
Daniel set the document down.
"I was trying to fix it quietly," he said.
"Fix what quietly?" I asked.
"The title problem.
I found out about it fourteen months ago.
I thought if I could get Dad to sign the deed over before the wedding, you'd never have to know.
It would just be — resolved."
"You knew for fourteen months."
"I was handling it."
"You were hiding it."
"I was protecting you from—"
"From what, Daniel?
From the truth about the house I was paying to renovate?
The house I was about to move into as your wife?"
He didn't answer.
I turned back to Victor.
"Why didn't you just sign the deed over when Daniel asked?"
"Because I wanted to know who was asking me to give up a legal asset worth several million pesos." He folded his hands on the table.
"So I looked into it.
I found out about the renovations.
I found out Margaret knew about the title issue the entire time she was accepting your money.
And I found out she never told Daniel to tell you." He paused.
"At that point, signing the deed over felt like I was helping cover something up."
The mover appeared in the hallway behind Margaret.
He caught my eye and raised his eyebrows — a question.
Still going?
I held up one finger.
Wait.
"Option three," I said to Victor.
"The repayment schedule.
What's the timeline?"
"My attorney suggested thirty-six months.
With interest at the standard rate."
"And if they miss a payment?"
"The deed reverts to me.
Immediately."
I looked at Daniel.
"Is that acceptable to you?"
"Emily, I—"
"Yes or no."
He looked at his mother.
She was gripping the door frame.
"Yes," he said.
I looked at Margaret.
"You would need to sign the debt acknowledgment," I said.
"Your name.
Your signature.
In front of a notary."
The room waited.
Margaret's grip on the door frame tightened.
Then, slowly, she walked to the table and pulled out the chair at the far end.
She sat down.
She did not look at Victor.
She did not look at Daniel.
She looked at me.
"You want me to sign a document admitting I owe you money."
"I want you to sign a document that reflects what is true."
"And if I refuse?"
I glanced at Victor.
He picked up his phone and set it on the table face-up.
His attorney's number was already on the screen, call ready.
"Then I press this," he said, "and we go with option one."
Margaret looked at the phone.
Then at the binder on the entry table.
Then at the empty space on the kitchen counter where the refrigerator had already been loaded onto the truck.
"Fine," she said.
The word came out like something being pulled from a wound.
"Fine.
I'll sign it."
I stood up and walked to the hallway.
The lead mover was waiting.
"We're done for today," I told him.
"Leave everything."
He nodded and went to tell his crew.
When I came back to the table, Daniel was looking at me with an expression I didn't have a name for.
"That's it?" he said.
"You're not taking anything?"
"Not today."
"Then why did you bring the trucks?"
I picked up my binder from the entry table.
"Because without the trucks," I said, "none of you would have sat down at this table."
Victor made a sound — not quite a laugh.
Something quieter than that.
He picked up his phone and put it back in his pocket.
Margaret stared at the table surface and said nothing.
But Daniel's phone buzzed again.
He looked at the screen and his expression shifted — not relief, not gratitude.
Something was wrong.
"It's my supervisor," he said.
"From the city office."
"On a Sunday morning?"
He read the message.
His face went the same color it had gone at the gate the day before.
"Someone filed a complaint," he said.
"About me.
Yesterday.
May you like
About the scene at the gate." He looked up.
"They're asking me to come in tomorrow morning for a formal review."
