My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
Richard nodded slowly, his pen returning to the pad. “I will schedule the meeting for Thursday afternoon at two o’clock. I will tell your father’s attorney that you are prepared to resolve the property division.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The notary’s office on Main Street was small, smelling of stale paper and cheap carpet cleaner. The clerk behind the counter, a woman named Martha with silver-rimmed glasses, checked my driver’s license twice before pulling a heavy ledger toward her.
I laid the original trust agreement on the counter, its blue cardstock cover still smelling of the ink from Richard’s office.
“I need three certified copies of the complete trust,” I said. “And the deed transfer certification.”
“That will be seventy-five dollars for the copies and fifteen dollars for each notary seal,” Martha said, her fingers hovering over her calculator. “A total of one hundred and twenty dollars.”
I paid her with the last of the cash I had withdrawn before my father froze the joint account, leaving exactly forty-two dollars in my wallet. She took the bills, counted them twice, and began stamping each page with a heavy, mechanical press.
