Chapter 3 - THE FIRST THING RICHARD TRIED AFTER I LEFT IN THE AMBULANCEAt 8:13 the next morning, Margaret received a call from a title company.
Richard had contacted them.
That was the first serious consequence outside our family.
He was not trying to record the old deed immediately.
He was smarter than that.
He requested a title review.
He claimed there was an unresolved ownership interest arising from the original loan and “subsequent family agreements.”
He also said I had abandoned the residence.
I had been in the hospital less than eighteen hours.
Margaret stared at her notes.
“Did he say abandoned?”
“Yes,” the title officer confirmed on speaker.
My hands went cold.
Margaret asked:
“Did he provide anything?”
“Copies. We have not relied on them.”
Good.
The title company had seen the recorded Mercer trust deed and Richard’s earlier mortgage release.
Nothing was moving without substantial review.
Still, Dad had acted fast.
Too fast for grief.
Too fast for an argument that supposedly began yesterday.
“Why would he need title reviewed?” I asked.
Margaret already had a theory.
“He may be trying to borrow.”
Against the house.
Or against an interest he claimed in it.
I called Dad.
He answered.
“Finally.”
“Did you contact a title company?”
“You should be resting.”
“Answer.”
“I’m trying to prevent you from making another emotional mistake.”
The same man who shoved an eight-months-pregnant woman out a door was now worried about emotional judgment.
“Are you trying to borrow against my house?”
“Our house.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“Daniel bought that place because I made it possible.”
“You were repaid.”
“For the loan.”
“What else was there?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“You don’t know the full arrangement.”
“Then explain it.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
I almost laughed.
“Try me.”
He didn’t.
Instead:
“Kelsey and I have already put too much into that property for you to hand it to Daniel’s lawyers.”
“Kelsey?”
“What does she have to do with my house?”
He hung up.
That was new.
Kelsey had been twenty-two when Dad met her.
She worked for an interior-design showroom that bought custom millwork from Hale Custom Works.
I had disliked the age difference.
Then hated myself for judging.
My father had been alone a long time.
Kelsey made him laugh.
Daniel told me:
“If he’s happy and she isn’t asking us for money, let them live.”
I had.
Maybe too thoroughly.
Margaret obtained permission through the appropriate channels to secure the house.
Richard and Kelsey did not live there.
They had no tenancy.
They had come that morning because I let them in.
A locksmith changed exterior access after my attorney documented the circumstances.
My father called it theft.
Again.
Words were becoming tools in his hands.
Abandoned.
Family property.
Theft.
As if naming my boundaries something ugly made them invalid.
Then Kelsey called me.
Her voice shook.
“You need to tell Margaret to stop the title dispute.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“Richard says the bank will pull our line.”
There it was.
“What line?”
No answer.
“Kelsey.”
“Hale Custom Works.”
“What does my house have to do with your business line?”
She began crying.
That scared me.
Not because I trusted her.
Because panic usually meant numbers had already gone somewhere.
“The bank wanted more collateral.”
“So Dad offered my house?”
“He said he still had an interest.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
Too fast.
She really had.
“Why?”
“He showed me a deed.”
The old deed.
“He said Daniel had been keeping the real ownership from you because he wanted to control what happened if something happened to him.”
My breath caught.
Dad had not merely claimed my house.
He had built a story where my dead husband was the deceiver.
“What else did he tell you?”
“That after Daniel died, the house came back to Richard.”
I closed my eyes.
“That isn’t true.”
Kelsey became quiet.
Then whispered:
May you like
“If it isn’t true, we’re in serious trouble.”
For the first time, she sounded less like an accomplice and more like someone realizing the floor beneath her was not where she thought it was.
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