My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
I hesitated, then took a scrap of paper from the notepad by the telephone.
I wrote down the nine digits and slid the paper across the table to her.
“Thank you, dear,” my mother said, folding the paper twice and tucking it into her leather purse. “We only want to make sure there are no delays with the state filings.”
She left twenty minutes later, leaving the lemon bread untouched on the counter.
The next evening, my father’s sedan pulled into the driveway just as I was coming home from my run.
He rolled down the window, his hand resting on the door panel, his thumb adjusting his watch strap.
“The blue metal box in the master closet is empty, Emily,” he said, his voice flat and commanding.
“Which box?” I asked, stopping on the gravel.
“The one where Thomas kept the original deed transfers,” he said, looking at me through the window. “They are not in his safe deposit box at the bank either.”
“He must have filed them elsewhere,” I said.
