My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
Rachel leaned back, the old wooden chair creaking under her weight. She picked up her tea but did not drink it yet.
“We need to look at the money trail, Olivia, because people do not get this angry over empty land.”
“The foreclosure notice was addressed to him,” I said. “I found the yellow envelope in the mailbox last week.”
“That is because he was the primary bidder on the default list,” Rachel said. “But the bank’s internal log shows a second name on the application. The system did not list it in the public database, which means it was filed manually.”
“My father’s sedan was parked near my southern fence line last week,” I said. “He was just sitting there, watching the house.”
“He is looking for a way in,” Rachel said. “And he is looking for the paperwork. If he can get you to sign a partition or an easement, he can merge the properties back together and hide whatever he did.”
We sat in the quiet kitchen, the wood stove beginning to crackle as the dry pine caught the flame.
