My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
“I told her I am keeping the house as Grandfather intended,” I said, closing my laptop.
“Thomas was senile at the end,” my father said, walking over to the fireplace mantel. He picked up a small silver-plated kettle that my grandmother used to keep on the stove, turning it over to inspect the maker’s mark. “He did not understand the tax implications of leaving a historic property to a single twenty-six-year-old on an accountant’s salary.”
“The property taxes are fixed under the state assessment laws,” I said. “I have already calculated the carrying costs. I can afford them.”
“You cannot afford the structural repairs,” he said, setting the kettle down with a sharp metallic click against the tile. “The roof needs forty thousand dollars in work. The plumbing is original galvanized pipe. You are living in a dream world, Emily.”
“I have a maintenance reserve,” I said.
“Where are the estate planning documents?” he asked, turning to face me. “The trust drafts he made in June. I know he had them in the roll-top desk.”
