PART 1 – THE HOUSE SHE ACTED LIKE SHE OWNED
By the time Susan Whitmore realized the upstairs air-conditioning had been switched off again, sweat had already begun soaking through the back of her blouse.
It was a brutal July afternoon in Raleigh, North Carolina.
Outside, the temperature was approaching ninety-five degrees, and sunlight poured through the tall windows of the house Susan’s father had left her six years earlier.
At fifty-four, Susan understood that some arguments were rarely about the thing that started them.
Still, she had an important video conference beginning in less than twenty minutes.
Her laptop was open on the desk in the upstairs bedroom she used as an office.
Her notes were arranged beside a glass of water.
Her headset sat next to the keyboard.
Everything was ready.
Except the room was becoming unbearably warm.
Susan opened the thermostat app on her phone.
The upstairs cooling zone had been manually disabled.
