But before I could say anything, Maverick slowly rose beside me.

And the entire room suddenly went silent.

When Maverick stood, the atmosphere shifted immediately.

Anyone who didn’t know him might have missed it. My husband usually looked like the most harmless person in the room—soft-spoken, relaxed, wearing his old L.L. Bean jacket as if he had nothing to prove.

But I had seen that look in his eyes before.

Calm. Focused. Certain.

He helped Willa out of her chair, then Jude.

“We’re leaving,” I said quietly.

Helen smiled, clearly satisfied. “That’s probably for the best,” she replied loudly. “After all, this is my house.”

The words carried across the terrace.

My house.

I noticed Maverick’s lips twitch slightly—almost as if he found something amusing.

Then he pulled out his phone.

“Before we go,” he said calmly, “I need to speak with Reed for a moment.”

My brother hurried over, confused and embarrassed. Guests nearby pretended not to stare, though everyone was clearly listening.

“What’s going on?” Reed asked.

“It’s about the house,” Maverick said.

“The house?” Reed frowned.

“The lease,” Maverick clarified.

Reed looked even more confused. “What lease?”

Maverick turned his phone toward him.

“Do you remember the name of the company listed on your rental agreement?”

Reed hesitated. “Ironwood Holdings… I think.”

“Correct,” Maverick replied.

Then he pointed at the screen.

“Read this.”

Reed leaned closer and began reading out loud.

“Internal directive… Chairman V. Miller… approve exception for Reed Foster… freeze rental rate indefinitely…”

His voice slowed.

His face turned pale.

Maverick spoke calmly so the entire crowd could hear.

“You’ve been paying $2,800 a month for this house. The current market rate is $4,200.”

A murmur rippled through the guests.

“That’s a difference of $16,800 per year,” Maverick continued. “Over three years, that’s over $50,000.”