Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
He was a tall man with a graying mustache, his name tag reading Miller. He held a clipboard under his arm and was looking at the front porch.
“Can I help you, Deputy?” I asked, walking up the driveway.
“You Maria?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Staff Sergeant Maria,” I said. “I own this house.”
He slid a document from his clipboard and handed it to me.
“I have a temporary restraining order here,” Miller said. “Filed yesterday by Oak Glen Holdings. You are not allowed on the property.”
The paper was cold in my hand. I looked at the bold lettering at the top of the page.
“Oak Glen Holdings is Gerald Benson’s shell company,” I said. “This house is mine. I bought it six years ago.”
“The court order says you cannot be within fifty feet of the dwelling,” Miller said. “I am just here to serve the paperwork.”
“But this is a fraud,” I said. “They used a forged power of attorney to sell it.”
Miller shifted his weight, his utility belt creaking.
