Chapter 5 - One Name Missing
The next morning, Marcus arrived before eight.
He brought coffee.
Tasha almost shut the door in his face.
Then she saw the envelope in his hand.
“What’s that?”
“County property records.”
Tasha let him in.
The children were still asleep.
The living room looked almost exactly as it had the evening before, except the shopping bags had been pushed against the wall and the receipts were now arranged in neat stacks.
The three backpacks still sat on the coffee table.
Marcus noticed them.
Tasha noticed him noticing them.
Neither mentioned the six hundred dollars.
He opened the envelope.
“I went downtown when the records office opened.”
“You could’ve searched online.”
“I did. I wanted certified copies.”
Tasha looked at him.
“That serious?”
“Yes.”
He placed a document on the table.
A quitclaim deed.
Seven years old.
Grantor: Lillian Mae Brooks.
Grantee: Lorraine Brooks.
Tasha stared.
“There.”
Marcus watched her.
“That’s what your mother was talking about.”
Tasha read every line.
Then read them again.
The document stated that Lillian transferred the property to Lorraine for nominal consideration.
Ten dollars.
Tasha whispered, “Three weeks before Grandma died.”
Marcus nodded.
The signature looked like Lillian’s.
At first.
Then Tasha leaned closer.
“She didn’t write her L like this.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“People’s handwriting changes when they’re sick.”
Tasha’s face tightened.
“She couldn’t hold a coffee mug three weeks before she died.”
Marcus said nothing.
Lillian had been seventy-eight, weakened by congestive heart failure and complications after a stroke.
Tasha touched the date.
“She was in rehab.”
“Could a notary have gone there?”
“Maybe.”
Marcus pulled out another page.
The deed had been notarized by a man named Curtis Vale.
Tasha stared at the name.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“I searched him.”
Marcus handed her a printed record.
“His commission existed.”
“So it’s legitimate?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Marcus pointed at the commission expiration date.
Tasha read it.
Then read the deed date.
Her breath caught.
“His commission expired four months earlier.”
Marcus nodded.
“Could it have been renewed?”
“I don’t know.”
Tasha sat down.
The air suddenly felt thin.
Marcus placed another document beside it.
“This is the probate filing.”
Tasha looked at him sharply.
“You found Grandma’s will?”
“A summary. The full file has to be requested.”
She scanned it.
Executor: Lorraine Brooks.
Primary beneficiaries listed on the docket summary: Tasha Brooks and Lorraine Brooks.
Tasha’s eyes narrowed.
“My mother told me there was nothing left except Grandma’s jewelry.”
“What happened to that?”
“She said Grandma sold most of it to cover medical bills.”
Marcus remained silent.
Tasha looked up.
“What?”
“I’m trying not to say what I’m thinking.”
“Say it.”
“Your mother has been deciding which documents you get to see for a long time.”
Tasha pushed the papers away.
“I need the will.”
“We can get it.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
Tasha stood.
Then stopped.
“You need to go.”
Marcus frowned.
“I thought—”
“I need ten minutes without you standing here looking like you were right.”
His face changed.
“That isn’t what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
He gathered nothing.
“All of this stays.”
“Obviously.”
He reached the door.
Tasha spoke.
“Marcus.”
He looked back.
“Why did you really try to buy this place?”
“I told you.”
“You told me the version that makes you sound protective.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“What version do you want?”
“The true one.”
Marcus stared at her.
Finally, he said, “I don’t trust you with money.”
The bluntness hurt more than the secret meeting.
Tasha laughed once.
“There it is.”
“I’ve watched you rescue everybody.”
“You mean my children?”
“I mean your mother. Your cousins. Damon when he calls with some emergency. Anybody who puts guilt in front of you.”
“So you thought you should control where Jayden lives.”
“I thought if I owned the house, nobody could sell it out from under him.”
“Except you.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You expect me to trust that?”
Marcus had no answer.
Tasha opened the door.
He left.
An hour later she was sitting at her kitchen table when her phone rang.
The number belonged to the county clerk’s office.
“We found the probate file you requested.”
Tasha grabbed a pen.
“Can you email it?”
“There are scanned documents available through the portal. I can give you the case number.”
Tasha wrote it down.
Ten minutes later, she was staring at her grandmother’s will.
It was eleven pages.
She moved slowly.
Personal property.
Funeral expenses.
Small cash gifts.
Then Article Six.
Tasha stopped breathing.
I devise and bequeath my residence, including all land and improvements thereon, to my granddaughter, Tasha Brooks, absolutely and in fee simple.
She covered her mouth.
There was no ambiguity.
The house was hers.
Or had been supposed to be.
Then she noticed something else.
The will had been signed eighteen months before the quitclaim deed.
In theory, the later deed could still have transferred the property.
But attached to the will was a letter written by Lillian.
Not legally dispositive.
But personal.
Tasha began reading.
Tasha, this house is the one thing I can leave you that nobody can turn off, repossess, or take back.
Her vision blurred.
She kept reading.
Your mother believes family survives by keeping control. I believe family survives by giving people somewhere safe to stand.
Tasha’s hands began shaking.
Then came the line that made her stand so quickly the chair fell backward.
Lorraine is not to own or control this property.
Tasha called Marcus.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
She could barely speak.
“My grandmother knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That my mother wanted the house.”
A silence.
“Tasha.”
“There’s a letter.”
“Send it.”
“I’m sending everything.”
She photographed the pages.
Before she could finish, another file attachment loaded from the probate portal.
A sworn inventory filed by Lorraine as executor.
Tasha opened it.
The house was listed.
Beside the property was one sentence.
Transferred by decedent prior to death; therefore excluded from estate.
Tasha stared at it.
Lorraine had used the deed to remove the house from the inheritance.
Her phone buzzed.
Marcus.
Then another call appeared simultaneously.
Her mother.
Tasha declined it.
Lorraine called again.
Then a text arrived.
You need to stop before you destroy this family over paperwork you do not understand.
Tasha looked around the kitchen.
The house suddenly felt different.
Not safer.
Not yet.
But awake.
For seven years, she had thought she was paying to remain in somebody else’s property.
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Now she understood the real possibility.
She had been paying rent to the woman who may have stolen it from her.
