Chapter 6 - The Listing With My Name Missing
I stared at the real estate listing for nearly a minute.
The photographs showed my family home from every angle.
Front porch.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Backyard.
My old bedroom.
The listing description called it a “beautifully maintained family residence.”
I almost laughed.
Beautifully maintained.
I had spent four years paying for repairs.
The realtor's name was Dana Mercer.
The listing price was $489,000.
Underneath it was a sentence that made my stomach twist.
Seller motivated. Quick closing preferred.
Evelyn called the listing “extremely concerning.”
“Why?”
“Because your trust gives you a property interest.”
“But what if my parents say they own it?”
“They can say anything.”
“What happens if they find a buyer?”
“They shouldn't be able to transfer clear title without your involvement.”
“Shouldn't?”
“That word matters.”
I hated lawyers.
Mostly because they had a habit of turning terrifying things into carefully worded sentences.
“Then why list it?”
“To see whether they can sell it before you intervene.”
That answer made my blood run cold.
We arranged to meet Dana Mercer.
I expected defensiveness.
Instead, she looked exhausted.
“I didn't know there was a dispute,” she said.
“You listed my home.”
“I was told your father owned it.”
“He doesn't.”
She slid a folder toward us.
“That's what I was told.”
Inside were copies of documents my parents had provided.
A deed.
A tax statement.
A notarized authorization.
And then I saw it.
My name.
Again.
Beneath a document labeled:
LIMITED PROPERTY AUTHORIZATION.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Forged.
Again.
I looked at Evelyn.
“How many documents are there?”
Dana swallowed.
“At least three.”
“For the sale?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave you these?”
“Your father.”
I closed the folder.
“Then tell me something.”
Dana looked uncomfortable.
“Has anyone made an offer?”
“One.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred seventy thousand.”
“Who?”
“Northbridge Solutions.”
My head snapped up.
The company from the settlement records.
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
“That's not a normal buyer.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we need to find out who owns Northbridge.”
Dana looked between us.
“I didn't know.”
“Can you stop the listing?”
“I can suspend it.”
“Do it.”
She nodded.
Then she hesitated.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“The buyer already wired earnest money.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“To whom?”
Dana opened another document.
The wire instructions were signed by my father.
The recipient account belonged to Bell Family Holdings LLC.
Evelyn leaned back.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The plan.”
She pointed to the contract.
“They expected the sale to close before you learned about the trust.”
“Can they keep the thirty thousand?”
“Not necessarily.”
“But if the buyer walks away?”
“Your family could be sued.”
I stared at the documents.
Suddenly, the threats made sense.
They had been rushing.
Listing the house.
Moving my belongings.
Changing the lock.
Pressuring me to leave.
They weren't simply tired of me.
They were racing a clock.
And I had just interrupted them.
That night, my parents' house became silent.
Until my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
“What?”
“You've been talking to people.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right.”
“My property.”
There was silence.
“Who told you that?”
“Grandma.”
His breathing changed.
“You don't understand the trust.”
“I have the trust clause.”
Another silence.
Then Dad said something I had never heard from him.
“You have no idea what your grandmother did.”
“What did she do?”
“She destroyed this family.”
My pulse slowed.
“That doesn't explain why you forged my name.”
“We didn't forge anything.”
“Three signatures?”
“You signed those years ago.”
“I was in Indianapolis.”
He said nothing.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
“You're making a mistake.”
“No. I think I've been making the mistake for four years.”
Dad's voice became cold.
“If you continue, you won't just hurt us.”
“What does that mean?”
“You'll hurt Wren.”
My chest tightened.
“Don't threaten my sister.”
“I'm not threatening anyone.”
“You just did.”
He hung up.
I called Wren.
No answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
I drove to her school.
She wasn't there.
I drove to her bookstore job.
She hadn't shown up.
My hands shook as I called the school.
They confirmed she had been signed out early.
By whom?
I already knew.
I drove straight to the house.
The front door was locked.
I knocked.
No answer.
Then I heard movement.
Heavy footsteps.
The door opened.
Brent stood there.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where's Wren?”
He smiled.
“Why would I know?”
“Because Dad threatened her.”
Brent's smile disappeared.
“Get off the property.”
“My property.”
“Not for long.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
He leaned closer.
“You should have taken the hint at Thanksgiving.”
Then he quietly shut the door in my face.
I stepped back.
The upstairs window curtains moved.
Someone was watching me.
I pulled out my phone and called the police.
Not to make an accusation.
Just to document that I was being denied access to a property I had evidence of owning.
Before the dispatcher finished taking my information, a text arrived.
From Wren.
Only four words.
I'm with Grandma's lawyer.
I froze.
Grandma Florence had been dead for three years.
May you like
Yet apparently, the lawyer she left behind was still alive.
And Wren had found her before I did.
