My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
“Keep this with you,” he said. “If anyone tries to enforce an eviction based on that deed, show them this number.”
The sun was setting behind the eucalyptus trees on Elm Street when I returned to the house. The kitchen was cold, the dry autumn air leaking through the old wooden window frames.
I had just placed the silver-plated kettle on the stove when the back door handle rattled. Ashley did not knock. She walked into the kitchen carrying her heavy leather folder, her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum.
“We need to talk about the keys, Emily,” she said, setting the folder on the table. She rearranged her hair, pulling a few strands behind her ear as she looked around the room. “Dad says you haven’t returned his calls about the bank account.”
“I have been busy,” I said, keeping my voice level.
“Well, you don’t have much time left,” she said, her voice dropping into that sugary, sympathetic tone she used when she wanted something. “The thirty days are running out. We already have a listing agent ready to take photos of the interior next week.”
