My Parents Sold My Downtown Building — Then the Historical Society Arrived

Описание: The champagne cork hit the crystal chandelier in my parents' dining room. Mom held up her phone, showing the cruise itinerary—Venice, Athens, Barcelona. Fourteen days. First-class cabins. Dad grinned, adjusting his country club polo.
"Your building," Mom said, not looking at me, "was dragging down the family's financial reputation. We took action."
My brother Craig raised his glass. "Finally. Someone with business sense."
I sat at the far end of the table, the seat I'd occupied at every family gathering for thirty-two years. The chair where Dad once told me, "Real estate isn't for daughters who major in art history." The same table where Mom said, "Find a good husband, sweetheart. That's a woman's real portfolio."
That was eleven years ago. The week I bought the Whitmore Building with money I'd saved from teaching art classes and weekend gallery work. Dad had laughed. "That condemned dump on Fourth and Madison? You'll lose everything."
I'd restored it alone. Every cracked window. Every water-damaged wall. Every collapsed ceiling beam. The building wasn't just property. It was 1887 craftsmanship—original crown molding, hand-carved banisters, terracotta facade work that modern builders couldn't replicate.
"The paperwork's done," Dad said, sliding a folder across the table. His fingers left prints on the leather. "Buyer wired the funds yesterday. We've already allocated $200,000 for the European trip. Your brother gets $300,000 for his boat. Your mother's getting the kitchen remodel she's wanted."
"The sale closed?" I asked.
"Tuesday afternoon," Mom said. She was already scrolling through Italian restaurants. "You should thank us. That building was a liability."


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