Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“The power of attorney was for emergencies,” I said, looking from Chad to my father. “It was for handling the roof if a hurricane hit while I was at sea.”
“An emergency is exactly what we had,” Chad said, the lighter snapping shut one last time.
“Where is the sixty-four thousand dollars?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low, quiet register.
“It is sitting in a joint holding account, safe and sound,” Chad said, though he did not look at me when he said it.
I knew he was lying about the security of the money, but I did not know why.
“This is my name on the deed,” I said, taking a step toward the porch steps.
Chad let out a dry, short laugh that did not reach his eyes. “Not anymore it is not. The new owner is already inside, and the county has the transfer on file.”
“Get out of my way, Chad,” I said.
“Go ahead and knock,” Chad said, stepping aside with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Your opinion does not matter anymore because the deed is recorded.”
