My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
“The notice was based on a forged quitclaim deed,” I said.
Helen let out a short, sugary laugh that did not reach her eyes. “We only want what is best for the family, Emily. Your grandfather would have wanted us to protect the estate from being tied up in probate.”
“Grandfather set up his own protections,” I said.
My father reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, unfolding it with a single, sharp snap. “This is a copy of the recorded quitclaim deed from the county recorder’s office. It has your signature on it, verified by a notary stamp.”
I looked at the blue ink of the notary stamp on his copy, knowing the actual trust deed was already locked in Richard Morrison’s office. “That signature is not mine.”
“It is recorded under your name,” Charles said, his voice dropping to a cold, flat register. “We are taking back what belongs to the family.”
He set the folded paper down on the small wicker table by the porch chair. “We will be back with the sheriff’s deputy on Thursday morning. If you are still here, your belongings will be moved to the curb.”
