29. The Buyout #3
“Good,” Judge Collins said. “Then we are done here. The stipulation is approved. The partition complaint is resolved. Good luck to all of you.” She paused, then added, more softly, “And Ms. Hart? Take good care of that bakery. My clerk tells me you make an excellent pecan bar.”
Jenna’s mouth fell open, then curved helplessly. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said. “I . . . I will.”
“Court is adjourned,” the bailiff called.
The gavel tapped once more. The sound echoed like the closing of a door—and the opening of another.
* * *
They were in the hallway before the adrenaline caught up. Jenna sagged against the paneled wall for a second, eyes closed. It was done.
It was actually, legally, officially, irreversibly done.
No forced sale. No drawn-out litigation. No living on a countdown clock, waiting for someone else to decide if she’d lose everything.
Instead, she’d bought it.
At a price she hated, but one she could live with.
“You okay?” Ramirez asked, with the understated concern of someone who’d watched many clients wobble like this.
“I think so,” Jenna said. “Is there a legal term for wanting to throw up and dance at the same time?”
“Relief,” Ramirez said. “Sometimes accompanied by buyer’s remorse.”
“Accurate,” Jenna said mildly.
Troy and his attorney exited the courtroom and approached. Jenna straightened automatically, Emmie stepping closer to her side like a bodyguard half her size.
“Well,” Troy said, clapping his hands. “That went easier than I expected.”
“Must be nice,” Emmie said coldly, “having your life go easy while everyone else cleans up your mess.”
Troy shrugged. “You got what you wanted. I got what I was entitled to. Everybody wins.”
Emmie’s eyes flashed. “You’re not entitled to anything that came out of that kitchen,” she said. “Or that house. Or my mother’s life. You’re just lucky the law hasn’t caught up to that yet.”
“Em,” Jenna said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.
“No,” Emmie said, but she let Jenna’s hand stay. “He needs to hear it at least once before he crawls back under his rock.”
Troy’s lawyer cleared his throat again. “We’ll be in touch about the logistics of payments and the deed,” he said to Ramirez. “My client will cooperate.”
“I’m sure he will,” Ramirez said coolly. “He’s being fairly compensated.”
“Generously compensated,” Emmie corrected.
Troy sighed like he was the injured party. “You girls always did like drama.”
“This isn’t drama; this is self-defense,” Emmie shot back.
Jenna squeezed her arm again, more firmly. “Come on,” she said. “He’s not worth one more sentence.”
Emmie’s jaw flexed, but she nodded. “Fine. Enjoy your check,” she said to Troy. “It’s the last thing you’ll ever get from us.”
He smirked. “We’ll see.”
“No,” Jenna said, startling even herself with the steel in her voice. “You won’t. The court just saw to that.”
She turned away then, walking down the hall with Emmie and Ramirez, leaving Troy behind.
* * *
Cole was waiting on the courthouse steps, leaning against a concrete pillar with hands shoved in his pockets. He straightened as soon as he saw them.
“Well?” he asked.
Jenna didn’t trust herself to speak yet. She just nodded.
A grin broke over his face, bright and unguarded. “They signed off?” he asked. “It’s done?”
“It’s done,” she said, the words tasting strange and wonderful. “The Judge approved the settlement. Once we cut the check and he signs the deed, it’s ours.”
Emmie crossed her arms. “He still walks away with a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, on top of the life insurance and the cars. It’s like the universe keeps handing him checks for ruining our lives.”
“We didn’t pay him because he deserved it,” Jenna said, surprising herself again with how clear it felt now that it was over. “We paid him to get out of our story. We bought quiet. We bought time. We bought a future without him in it.”
Emmie studied her face. Then, slowly, her shoulders dropped a fraction. “He’s still a parasite,” she muttered.
“Absolutely. He’s just a parasite who’s about to be removed from our property records.”
Cole barked a laugh. “That’s the spirit.”
He stepped closer, searching Jenna’s expression. “How do you feel? Really?”
She thought about it. Tired, certainly. Wrung out. There was sadness there too, sadness that money, law, and paperwork were the final words on her sister’s marriage.
But beneath that, there was something else.
“It feels like . . .” She groped for words. “Like . . . like we’ve been holding our breath for the last month, and I finally got to exhale.”
“Sounds like freedom.” He nodded slowly. “Worth every penny.”
Emmie eyed him. “Spoken like a man who isn’t the one actually writing the check.”
“Hey,” he said, hand over his heart. “I lifted a lot of tables. That has to be worth at least fifty bucks.”
She snorted, the first real laugh of the day. “Okay, fine. You get partial credit.”
They stood there for a moment on the courthouse steps, the three of them, contractor, aunt, niece, bathed in harsh Florida sunshine and the strange quiet after a battle.
“So,” Cole said, “what now?”
“Now,” Jenna said, feeling the answer settle in her bones, “we go home.”