My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
She pulled out a thick blue folder containing the registered deed to my parcel.
“Your title is clean,” Rachel said, clicking her silver pen three times. She laid the white paper flat on the table, smoothing the corner with her thumb. “You bought the land from the bank after the previous owner defaulted on the mortgage.”
“My father says it belongs to Evan,” I said, pouring the hot water over two tea bags. The steam rose in the cold room, smelling of black tea and damp paper.
“Evan tried to buy it first,” Rachel said, tracing her finger down the legal description. “The bank held a public auction in December, but his bid failed.”
“He did not have the cash,” I said, setting her mug down on the table.
“He had a deposit,” Rachel said, looking up from the paper. “Thirty thousand dollars. But the bank rejected the final transaction.”
“Where would Evan get thirty thousand dollars?” I asked. “He has not held a job for more than three months since he left the army.”
