Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
Fletcher stood up, his leather chair rolling back against the plastic mat. He walked to the printer in the corner, returning with three copies of the quitclaim deed, the paper still warm from the machine. He placed them in front of Evelyn first, slide-tapping the corner of the pages to align them.
“Sign here as trustee, Mrs. Webb,” Fletcher said, handing her a black rollerball pen. “Then Marcus will sign as the grantor of the original transfer.”
The room was silent except for the scrape of Evelyn’s pen. She signed her name with three quick, practiced strokes, then pushed the pen toward her son without a word.
Marcus did not touch the pen. He looked at me, his eyes wide and dark, as if waiting for me to call off the transaction.
“This is our home, Clare,” Marcus said. “We spent three years renovating the kitchen. We chose the marble countertops together.”
“You spent my consulting bonuses,” I said. “Sign the document.”
Marcus picked up the pen. His hand was steady, but he rotated the signet ring one more time before lowering the nib to the paper.
