Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
She reached into the open driver-side window of her car and pulled a thick manila envelope from the dashboard.
“He told me it was a private, off-market sale,” she said, sliding a multi-page document from the envelope. “He said the fees were high because we had to clear the title quickly.”
She handed me the sheet titled Closing Disclosure, her hand trembling slightly as the paper caught the wind.
“Does this match what your father told you?” she asked.
I looked at the top line, where Emily’s signature sat next to the date of September tenth. The purchase price was clearly typed as eighty-eight thousand dollars.
“My father told me very little,” I said.
She looked down at her daughter’s pink bicycle leaning against my front porch steps. “I put my entire savings into this place. The school district does not pay enough for me to start over.”
“Did you meet with my father during the sale?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Mr. Benson handled everything. He said the seller was an elderly man who was too ill to attend the closing.”
