Chapter 3 - THE LAND ROBERT SAID HE WOULD NEVER SELL
I asked Robert to lunch.
Just Robert.
No Diane.
No Nathan.
That was harder to arrange than it should have been.
Diane managed their social calendar as though Robert were a governor.
When he finally met me at a barbecue restaurant off Six Forks Road, he arrived ten minutes late and looked guilty.
“Diane thinks I'm at the bank.”
“You're sixty-seven.”
“I know.”
“You don't need a cover story to eat brisket.”
He smiled.
Then saw my face.
“What happened?”
I did not tell him about the camera yet.
Caroline and I still had only fragments.
Instead I asked about Mercer Ridge.
Robert put down his fork.
“What about it?”
“Has Nathan talked to you about selling?”
“Always.”
“Recently?”
“He'd sell my socks if zoning allowed it.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Robert sighed.
Nathan had approached him nine months earlier.
A regional developer wanted Mercer Ridge because a nearby road expansion could make the acreage dramatically more valuable.
Robert refused.
“Why?”
“My father left it to me.”
“That doesn't answer why you refuse to sell.”
He looked through the restaurant window.
“My dad died thinking every piece of dirt he owned meant something. Most of it didn't. That one did.”
There was an old cabin on the property.
Robert had spent summers there.
Nathan learned to fish there.
Sentiment, not finance.
“Did you ever give Nathan authority to negotiate?”
Robert hesitated.
That was my answer.
“When?”
“After my surgery two years ago.”
Different surgery.
A cardiac procedure.
Robert had given Nathan a broad financial power of attorney because Diane hated paperwork and Nathan already helped with business matters.
“Still active?”
“No.”
“How sure are you?”
He looked irritated.
“I revoked it.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
Robert stared at me.
“He started talking to people about Mercer Ridge.”
My skin prickled.
“Without permission?”
“He said he was testing value.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to stop.”
“And?”
“He got offended.”
Of course.
Robert had his attorney prepare a written revocation.
Nathan received a copy.
Diane knew.
That mattered.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Robert laughed softly.
“Because it wasn't your problem.”
Maybe.
Maybe that was the family habit that created most problems.
Everything remained private until privacy failed.
I told him about the development-company letter he had shown me months earlier.
He remembered it.
“Did you respond?”
“No.”
“Did Nathan?”
“How would I know?”
That afternoon, Caroline arranged for a Raleigh real-estate attorney, Malcolm Price, to review public records.
Mercer Ridge remained titled solely to Robert.
No recorded deed.
No lien.
No recorded sale.
For two hours, I felt ridiculous.
Maybe Nathan had simply discussed the property.
Maybe Diane's camera belonged to some bizarre campaign against me unrelated to the land.
Then Malcolm called back.
“A title company ran a search on Mercer Ridge six weeks ago.”
“Can they do that?”
“Title searches happen for plenty of reasons. It doesn't mean anything transferred.”
“Who ordered it?”
“I'm working on that.”
The next day, Robert received an email from a closing attorney.
It thanked him for providing preliminary authorization through his agent.
Robert called me before Diane saw it.
“Elena.”
His voice shook.
“They think Nathan represents me.”
Malcolm contacted the closing attorney with Robert's permission.
The response was immediate and professional.
The buyer had been negotiating through Nathan.
Nathan had produced a copy of the old power of attorney.
The closing attorney had not yet received final deed documents.
No title had transferred.
But there was something worse.
An option agreement had already been executed.
Nathan had signed:
Nathan Mercer, Attorney-in-Fact for Robert Mercer.
The agreement gave the buyer the right to purchase Mercer Ridge for $4.6 million.
Robert stared at the copy.
“I revoked this authority.”
Malcolm nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then the agreement isn't valid.”
“That will need to be addressed carefully.”
Robert pointed to a number near the bottom.
“What is three hundred thousand?”
The buyer had paid an option consideration.
Three hundred thousand dollars.
It had not gone to Robert.
The payment had gone to Mercer Residential Ventures.
Nathan’s company.
May you like
Robert sat back.
For the first time, I saw a father stop asking whether his son had made a mistake.
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