Static. A rustling sound as someone finally picked up the phone.
“Skylar? You still there?”
I was frozen. Completely frozen.
“Skylar?” Impatience now.
I hung up.
For a long moment, I just sat there in the coffee shop, surrounded by the hum of conversation and the hiss of espresso machines, staring at my phone. They didn’t see me as their daughter. They saw me as a resource. A thing to be exploited. A naive fool who could be manipulated into funding their retirement while they stole my home out from under me.
The Italy trip.
I had promised to pay for that months ago. Back when I still believed they were struggling. Back when I thought funding a “modest” retirement vacation was the kind thing to do for parents who had had such a hard time financially.
They were planning to take my money, go party in Europe for two weeks, come back, and literally lock me out of my own office. And if I tried to fight, the legal system would protect them. Elderly tenants with medical needs. Poor old Arthur with his bad knee. Poor old Kate who had never worked a day in her life and wouldn’t know how to survive without someone to leech off.
The old Skyler would have felt trapped. The new Skyler felt something else entirely.
Clarity.
I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name I hadn’t called in two years. Roman Thorne, the attorney who had handled Aunt Alice’s probate.
He answered on the third ring. “Skyler? Long time.”
“Roman.” My voice came out steady. “I need to ask you a legal question. Hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically,” he echoed, amused. “Shoot.”
“If someone owns a house free and clear, no mortgage, their name alone on the deed, and they have tenants who refuse to leave, does the owner have the right to sell the property?”
Silence. Then, “This isn’t hypothetical, is it?”
“Does the owner have the right to sell?” I repeated.
“Yes.” Roman’s voice shifted, became more serious. “Property owner always has the right to sell. The occupants become the buyer’s problem. It’s actually one of the few ways to handle a tenant who has dug in legally. You sell the house, transfer the deed, and the new owner can handle eviction proceedings. But, Skyler, standard buyers—families, people looking for a home—they won’t touch a place with squatters. It’s too much risk.”
“So I’m stuck?”
“Not necessarily. There are investors. Wholesalers. Firms like Lone Star Holdings. They buy distressed properties for cash. They don’t care about occupants because they have their own legal teams and security contractors to handle… extractions.”
“Extractions?” I repeated.
“They’re brutal, Skyler. They buy as-is, usually well below market value, and they clear the property out fast. It’s not pretty.”
“I need to sell my house,” I said. “Fast. And I need the sale to be quiet. Can you get me a number for Lone Star Holdings?”
“How fast?”
“Two weeks.”
He whistled low. “That’s ambitious, and you’ll take a hit on the price. They’re sharks.”
“Can you help me?” I asked again.
Another pause. Then, “I know a rep there. Stella Wright. She handles their acquisitions in Travis County. I’ll text you her contact info. But, Skyler, be careful. Whatever you’re planning—”
“I’m not planning anything,” I said. “I’m just taking back what’s mine.”
I hung up before he could respond.
Roman’s text came through thirty seconds later. Stella Wright’s name and number. I didn’t hesitate. I called immediately.
“Stella Wright, Lone Star Holdings.” A crisp voice answered.
“Ms. Wright. My name is Skyler Bennett. Roman Thorne gave me your number. I have a custom brick ranch on three acres in hill country. Appraised at 1.1 million dollars. I need to sell it for cash in the next two weeks.”
“Occupied?” she asked instantly—the professional shark smelling blood.
“Yes. Two occupants. No lease.”
“We buy distressed assets at a discount,” she stated flatly. “If we have to handle an eviction, we offer seventy to eighty percent of market value. We can close in ten days. Cash.”
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