Chapter 6 - The House Her Grandmother Promised
By noon, Tasha had printed every page.
She spread them across the dining table.
The six-hundred-dollar argument had left receipts across the coffee table.
Now the house itself had paperwork covering another piece of furniture.
It felt almost absurd.
Marcus arrived with sandwiches and a yellow legal pad.
“You eating?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I’m investigating my mother.”
“You can investigate while chewing.”
Tasha gave him a tired look.
He put the food down.
“Where are the kids?”
“Upstairs.”
“You tell them anything?”
“Only that the house isn’t being sold.”
“Good.”
Tasha pointed at the will.
“She wanted me to have it.”
Marcus read the highlighted paragraph.
His face tightened.
“I told you.”
“Yes.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“That sentence is getting on my nerves.”
Marcus nodded.
“Fair.”
He sat across from her.
“What now?”
“I called two lawyers.”
“And?”
“One wanted a consultation fee I don’t have. The other said she’ll call me back.”
“I’ll pay.”
“No.”
“Tasha.”
“No.”
“This isn’t about pride.”
“It is partly about pride.”
“You may be dealing with fraud involving a house worth almost three hundred thousand dollars.”
“And I am not replacing one person controlling things with another.”
Marcus leaned back.
That landed.
“Okay.”
Tasha looked at him.
“You understand why I’m saying no?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Would you accept it as a loan?”
“No.”
“As part of what I should’ve been helping with anyway?”
She looked at him longer.
“We’ll discuss money later.”
“Fine.”
Marcus turned to the deed.
“What do we actually know?”
Tasha appreciated the question.
Not what they suspected.
What they knew.
“Grandma signed a will eighteen months before she died leaving me the house.”
Marcus wrote it down.
“A quitclaim deed appeared three weeks before she died transferring the house to my mother.”
He wrote.
“The notary’s listed commission appears expired.”
“Appears.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Tasha opened her grandmother’s letter.
“She specifically wrote that she did not want my mother controlling the property.”
“Helpful emotionally.”
“Maybe legally too?”
“We need an attorney.”
Tasha nodded.
Marcus tapped the table.
“Do you remember the month she supposedly signed the deed?”
“Very well.”
“Why?”
Tasha stared toward the window.
“Because Grandma fell.”
Marcus remembered.
Lillian had suffered a stroke after collapsing in the bathroom.
“She was in the rehabilitation center.”
“Could she sign?”
“She could make marks. Some days she could write her first name.”
“Was she mentally clear?”
“Most days.”
“Then we can’t just say she was incapable.”
“I know.”
Tasha hated that honesty required making Lorraine’s possible defense stronger.
Marcus continued.
“Did your mother visit her alone?”
“All the time.”
“Did you?”
“Every day after work.”
“Did Lillian mention the house?”
Tasha thought.
Then remembered.
“She asked whether I still kept the spare key under the ceramic frog.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“That ugly green thing?”
“She loved it.”
“So?”
“I told her yes.”
Tasha’s expression changed.
“She said, ‘Good. Never give your mother that key.’”
Marcus stopped writing.
“When?”
“About a week before Grandma died.”
“You never thought that was strange?”
“My mother and grandmother fought constantly.”
“About what?”
“Control.”
There it was again.
The word threaded through everything.
Tasha stared at Lillian’s letter.
“My grandmother thought Mom managed everybody like accounts.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds familiar.”
Tasha looked at him.
“Careful.”
“I’m including myself.”
That surprised her.
He continued.
“I sent six hundred dollars and expected the label on the transfer to control exactly what happened after it hit your account.”
“It should have.”
“Yes.”
Tasha blinked.
Marcus looked at the papers.
“But I also walked into your house measuring fatherhood by ownership.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
Before she could answer, her phone rang.
The attorney.
Tasha put it on speaker after introducing Marcus.
The lawyer’s name was Alicia Grant.
She listened carefully.
Then said, “Do not confront anyone further about whether the deed was forged.”
Tasha and Marcus exchanged a look.
“Why?” Tasha asked.
“Because if evidence exists, you don’t want it disappearing.”
“What evidence?”
“Emails. Original documents. Notary records. Medical records. Witness recollections. Depending on the jurisdiction and circumstances, potentially handwriting analysis.”
Tasha swallowed.
“What should I do?”
“First, order a complete certified chain of title.”
“I have some records.”
“Some is not enough.”
Alicia continued.
“Second, do not sign anything your mother gives you.”
Marcus’s eyes shifted.
“Third, preserve every text and voicemail.”
Tasha looked at her phone.
“And fourth?”
“Tell me whether anyone is currently trying to sell or refinance the property.”
Marcus answered.
“I was going to buy it.”
Silence.
Alicia said, “Who are you?”
“Marcus Reed. Tasha’s co-parent.”
“And prospective buyer?”
“Not anymore.”
“Did you sign anything?”
Marcus looked at Tasha.
“Yes.”
“Did you pay money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
Another pause.
“Where did you send it?”
“Directly to Lorraine Brooks.”
Alicia exhaled.
“That creates an additional problem.”
“For her?”
“For everyone.”
Tasha rubbed her forehead.
Then Alicia asked a question neither expected.
“Mr. Reed, did Lorraine ever send you proof she owned the property before taking your money?”
Marcus opened his messages.
“She sent me a picture of the deed.”
“Send it to me.”
He did.
Seconds later Alicia spoke.
“This isn’t the certified deed you pulled this morning.”
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
“The recording number is different.”
Tasha stood.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Alicia said.
“It’s possible.”
Her voice had become careful.
“It means someone may have shown Marcus a different document than the one actually recorded with the county.”
Marcus stared at his phone.
Tasha stared at the certified deed.
Two documents.
One house.
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