Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“An entity called Benson Holdings LLC,” the clerk said, pointing a manicured finger at the screen. “They purchased the property for forty thousand dollars.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly. “Forty thousand? The woman living there paid eighty-eight.”
“The secondary transfer to Emily Morrison is registered right below it,” the clerk said, sliding a printed copy of the deed transfer document across the counter toward me.
But the official sale price recorded from my father to Benson Holdings was sixty-four thousand dollars.
I looked at the official stamp on the deed transfer, realizing my home had been signed away with a single stroke of a pen.
Captain Vance laid the photocopied power of attorney flat on his metal desk, his thumb tracing the date at the bottom. The air conditioning in the legal assistance office hummed a steady, low drone that vibrated through the metal desk and the floorboards. Outside the window, a helicopter engine whined on the tarmac, a mile away.
“You were on the USS Ashland on the fourteenth of June, Sergeant,” Vance said.
