My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
By one o’clock, I was back in Richard’s conference room. The table was covered in thick, cream-colored pages that smelled of fresh ink.
Richard sat at the end of the table, his glasses sliding down his nose as he turned the pages.
“This is the trust agreement,” he said, pointing to a paragraph near the middle of the first page. “It names you as the sole trustee. The assets are fully protected from personal liabilities.”
“And my sister cannot access it?” I asked.
“Nobody can,” Richard said. “Unless you sign a document specifically transferring ownership out of the trust.”
I thought of Ashley standing in the dark by the driveway, her leather folder tucked under her arm.
“My mother has a recipe book in her kitchen,” I said, the thought coming to me out of nowhere. “She keeps all her important papers hidden under the plastic sleeves in the back.”
Richard looked up from his reading.
“Why do you mention that?” he asked.
“She always told us that if the house caught fire, we should grab that book first,” I said.
