Chapter 2: The House My Father Left Behind
Nobody spoke.
I stood inside the shed, holding the property transfer agreement.
Outside, the birthday decorations moved gently in the breeze.
Someone had turned off the music.
My brother Daniel stepped through the doorway.
“Marcus, what the hell is going on?””
I handed him the document.
“Read the third page.””
Daniel scanned it.
His eyebrows rose.
“Mom's house?””
I nodded.
My parents had owned a modest three-bedroom house in Marietta, just outside Atlanta.
It wasn't particularly impressive.
The kitchen needed remodeling, the driveway had cracks, and the backyard fence leaned slightly to the left.
But my father had built most of it himself.
He had planted the magnolia tree in the front yard when I was born.
He had repaired the porch steps every spring.
And before he died, he'd made one thing very clear.
The house belonged to Evelyn.
No matter what happened.
I looked at my mother.
“Did you sign this?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
“Then why is your signature here?””
“I don't know.””
Claire appeared in the doorway.
“Marcus, you're making a terrible mistake.””
I turned.
“Explain the document.””
“It's a draft.””
“A draft?””
“Yes.””
“Why does it have a signature?””
She rubbed her forehead.
“Your mother agreed to consider selling the house.””
Daniel looked up.
“Since when?””
Claire glanced at him.
“This is between Marcus and me.””
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Apparently, it's between you, Marcus, and a property lawyer, too.””
“Daniel, stay out of it.””
“No,” I said.
“He can stay.””
Claire's face tightened.
I looked at the document again.
The buyer was listed as Reed Property Holdings LLC.
That was the company I had created two years earlier to purchase investment properties.
My stomach dropped.
“Why is my company listed as the buyer?””
Claire swallowed.
“Because we discussed using it.””
“We?””
“You and I.””
“When?””
She looked toward the relatives gathering outside.
“Not here.””
I stepped closer.
“Stop saying that. Tell me now.””
My mother gently touched my arm.
“Marcus, please. I don't want your birthday ruined.””
I turned toward her.
“Mom, this isn't about a birthday.””
She lowered her eyes.
I suddenly noticed something else.
Her left wrist had a faint purple mark.
It looked like the outline of fingers.
“Mom, what happened to your wrist?””
She pulled her sleeve down.
“Nothing.””
“Did you fall?””
“No.””
I looked at Claire.
She immediately answered.
“She bruises easily because of her medication.””
My mother didn't say anything.
I remembered the night she'd arrived at our house.
She had been cheerful, carrying a small suitcase and a tin of homemade cookies.
Claire had hugged her and said, “You're going to be spoiled here.””
Now I wondered what had happened after that hug.
I carried the documents outside.
“Everybody, please give us a moment.””
My aunt Margaret approached.
“Marcus, honey, is Evelyn okay?””
I looked at my mother.
She forced a smile.
“I'm fine, Margaret.””
But her voice cracked.
I helped her sit beneath the patio awning.
Daniel stood beside me.
Claire remained near the shed.
I noticed she kept glancing at her phone.
“Who are you messaging?”” I asked.
She slipped it into her purse.
“Nobody.””
“Show me.””
Her eyes flashed.
“Excuse me?””
“Show me your phone.””
She laughed once.
“Have you lost your mind?””
I didn't answer.
Daniel took the document from my hand.
“Marcus, look at this.””
He pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.
The agreement stated that Evelyn would transfer ownership of the Marietta property to Reed Property Holdings for $10.
Ten dollars.
My father had spent thirty-two years paying off that house.
My mother had spent the last five years maintaining it after his death.
And someone was trying to take it for ten dollars.
I felt sick.
“Mom,” I said, “did anyone explain this document to you?””
She nodded slowly.
“Claire said it was paperwork for your company.””
“What paperwork?””
“She told me you wanted to protect the house from estate taxes.””
I stared at her.
“Mom, I never said that.””
“I know that now.””
“Why did you sign?””
She looked down at her hands.
“I didn't.””
I looked at the forged signature again.
Then at Claire.
“Did you forge this?””
Claire's face crumpled.
“How dare you?””
“Answer me.””
“You're humiliating me in front of your family!””
“Someone has forged my mother's signature using my company name.””
“It's not what you think!””
“Then tell me what it is.””
She pressed her fingers against her temples.
“Your mother was going to lose that house anyway.””
Daniel stepped forward.
“Why?””
“Because she can't maintain it!””
My mother looked up.
“I never asked you to maintain it.””
Claire turned toward her.
“You're living in our house! You're using our money! You expect everyone to rearrange their lives around you!””
Silence fell over the patio.
My mother looked as if Claire had slapped her.
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Mom has paid for her own medication, food, and personal expenses.””
Claire laughed.
“Do you have any idea how much work she creates?””
“She's recovering from surgery.””
“Exactly!””
Claire gestured toward the house.
“She can't even walk upstairs without help. We have a seven-year-old child. I have a job. I have responsibilities.””
My mother slowly stood.
“Claire, I never wanted to be a burden.””
“Then you should have thought about that before moving in.””
“Claire,” I warned.
But she continued.
“I'm tired of pretending this arrangement is working.””
My mother reached for her cane.
Her hands were shaking.
Daniel stepped forward to support her.
“Evelyn, let's sit down.””
She shook her head.
“I think I should go upstairs.””
I helped her toward the house.
As we passed Claire, she whispered something.
“You should have stayed quiet.””
I stopped.
“What did you say?””
She looked at me.
“Nothing.””
My mother suddenly gripped my arm.
“Marcus, don't let her take the blue folder.””
I turned.
“What blue folder?””
She pointed toward the shed.
“The one underneath the suitcase.””
I returned to the shed.
The blue folder was exactly where she'd described.
Inside were bank statements, property tax receipts, and several handwritten notes.
The first note was dated two months earlier.
It was written in Claire's handwriting.
*Evelyn needs to understand that keeping the house is no longer practical. Marcus won't support this forever.*
I turned the page.
Another note.
*If she refuses to sign, remind her that she has nowhere else to go.*
My fingers tightened around the paper.
Then I found a third note.
It contained a list of items from my mother's house.
Furniture.
Jewelry.
Antique silver.
My father's watch.
Beside each item was a price.
Someone had been valuing my mother's belongings.
I heard footsteps.
Claire stood in the doorway.
“Put that folder down.””
I looked at her.
“Why are you selling my mother's things?””
“I'm not selling anything.””
“Then what are these prices?””
She folded her arms.
“They're estimates.””
“For what?””
“For the estate.””
“My mother is alive.””
Claire looked away.
I stared at her.
“Why did you write that she has nowhere else to go?””
Her silence was answer enough.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
*Mr. Reed, this is attorney Melissa Grant. I need to speak with you urgently regarding a property transfer submitted under your mother's name. Please do not sign anything until we've discussed the circumstances.*
I read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
*Your wife contacted our office last week. She claimed you had authorized her to handle the entire transaction.*
I looked up.
Claire had gone completely still.
“Who is Melissa Grant?”” I asked.
May you like
Her lips parted.
And for the first time, I realized that the shed might contain only a fraction of what my wife had been hiding.
