Chapter 8: Eighteen Witnesses to the Theft
By Saturday morning, I had made a decision.
I was going back to my beach house.
James advised against confronting Megan, but he agreed that we could make a controlled visit to document the condition of the property and deliver formal notice disputing the attempted transfer. He arranged for a colleague to accompany us and told me not to enter the house if anyone tried to prevent us.
“I don't want a confrontation,” he warned as we drove toward the coast.
“Neither do I.””
“Margaret, I mean it. Don't let them provoke you.””
I watched the ocean appear between the trees.
“I spent twelve years sewing other people's dreams into dresses,” I said.
“I am not letting anyone turn my retirement into their private business deal.””
James gave me a brief, tired smile.
“Then let's do this carefully.””
When we turned onto my street, I saw the cars before I saw the house.
There were even more than before.
A silver SUV sat half on the lawn, and a pickup truck blocked part of the driveway. Someone had tied balloons to the mailbox. The front windows were open, and music poured into the street.
I parked at the curb.
A little girl ran across the grass carrying one of my garden ornaments.
I stepped out.
“Megan!””
The music stopped.
A moment later, Megan appeared in the doorway wearing a white blouse and my blue-and-white apron.
She looked irritated rather than surprised.
“Oh, for goodness' sake. What now?””
“I need everyone to stop using the property while the ownership dispute is being reviewed.””
She laughed.
“Ownership dispute? Margaret, you really need to calm down.””
James stepped forward and handed her a letter.
“This notice concerns a disputed property transfer and an attempted listing. You should review it with your attorney before taking further action.””
Megan barely glanced at the envelope.
“I'm not accepting legal threats from a woman who can't even decide what she wants to do with her own house.””
“That's exactly what I'm trying to establish,” I replied.
“What I want is for you to stop treating my property as yours.””
Linda appeared behind her, holding a plate piled with barbecue ribs.
“Oh, she's back.””
Several relatives emerged onto the deck.
Megan raised her voice so everyone could hear.
“Margaret has decided to ruin our reunion because she doesn't like sharing.””
I looked at the people gathered behind her.
A man I recognized as Linda's brother stood beside the grill. Two young women were sitting on my porch steps. A couple I had never met leaned against the railing with their drinks.
“I'm going to ask you all a question,” I said.
“Did any of you know that Megan intended to sell this house?””
The group exchanged uncertain looks.
Megan's face tightened.
“Don't listen to her. She's confused about the paperwork.””
A gray-haired man stepped forward.
“I thought Robert owned the place.””
“He doesn't,” I said.
“That's not what Megan told us.””
Megan turned sharply toward him.
“Uncle David, stay out of this.””
But the damage was done.
Another woman spoke from the doorway.
“She told us the house was being transferred to Robert and that the reunion was a chance to see it before renovations.””
I looked at Megan.
“Renovations?””
She folded her arms.
“The property needs work.””
“Then why did the listing describe it as move-in ready?””
Her mouth opened, then closed.
James handed the formal notice to the real estate agent, who had arrived in a white sedan and was standing near the driveway with a clipboard.
“Are you the agent responsible for advertising this property?”” he asked.
The man nodded cautiously.
“Yes, but I was told the owners had authorized the listing.””
“Have you verified the recorded ownership and the authority of the person who instructed you?””
The agent looked at Megan.
She immediately stepped between them.
“This is a family matter.””
“No,” James replied.
“It's a property matter. You have now been informed that the authorization is disputed.””
The agent studied the notice.
“I'll suspend any further activity until I speak with my broker and attorney.””
Megan's face flushed.
“You can't do that! We have an agreement.””
“An agreement based on disputed authority,” James said.
“You need to resolve that before proceeding.””
Linda placed her plate on the porch railing.
“This is ridiculous. We drove six hours to be here.””
I looked at her.
“And I drove three hours to discover that my home had been taken over.””
She scoffed.
“You could have stayed somewhere else.””
“I did. Because your daughter told me there was no room in my own house.””
For the first time, several relatives looked genuinely uncomfortable.
A young man near the barbecue lowered his phone.
Megan noticed.
“Stop recording!”” she shouted.
He looked startled.
“I'm not recording.””
“Then put your phone away.””
“Why? You said Margaret was causing a scene. I wanted to see what was happening.””
Megan snatched a paper plate from the railing and flung it into the trash can.
“This is my family! Nobody needs to listen to her.””
I looked at the faces around me.
“I'm not asking anyone to take my side. I'm asking you to understand that this is my property, and I never agreed to any transfer or sale.””
An older woman stepped forward.
“Margaret, I'm sorry. Megan told us Robert was handling everything legally.””
“Did she show you any documents?””
“No.””
“Did she tell you that my signature had been questioned?””
The woman shook her head.
Megan pointed toward the driveway.
“Everybody inside. Now.””
But no one moved.
The people she had gathered to celebrate her supposed future ownership were beginning to understand that something was wrong.
And she knew it.
“You're humiliating me,” she hissed at me.
I held her gaze.
“You humiliated yourself when you decided my home was yours to give away.””
Her expression changed.
The friendly daughter-in-law who had worn my apron and poured wine for her relatives vanished.
“You think you're clever because you've got a lawyer?”” she whispered.
“You have no idea what Robert has already agreed to.””
James stepped closer.
“That's enough. Any further communications about the property should go through counsel.””
Megan laughed bitterly.
“Fine. Let the lawyers handle it.””
She turned toward the house.
Then she stopped and looked back at me.
“You should ask your son why he needed the money so badly.””
My heart lurched.
“What money?””
Megan smiled.
For the first time, it was a genuinely cruel smile.
“Ask him about the debt he was drowning in before he married me. Ask him who paid it off. Ask him what he promised in return.””
I stared at her.
James immediately said, “Megan, do not make further statements about this without legal representation.””
She ignored him.
“Robert didn't sign those papers because I forced him. He signed because he needed me.””
The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
I looked toward the house.
Robert's car wasn't there.
“Where is my son?””
Megan lifted her chin.
“Gone.””
“Gone where?””
She leaned closer.
“Somewhere he can't interfere with the sale.””
A chill moved down my spine.
“What have you done to him?””
Megan's eyes flashed.
“Nothing. He made his choice.””
She disappeared inside and slammed the door.
James turned to me.
“We need to contact Robert immediately.””
I called him.
No answer.
I tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Then I received a message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of Robert sitting alone in what looked like a motel room.
His face was bruised, and his shirt collar was torn.
Beneath the picture was a single sentence.
*YOUR SON HAS UNTIL TOMORROW TO SIGN THE FINAL PAPERS.*
I looked up at James.
May you like
He had seen the photograph over my shoulder.
“Margaret,” he said quietly, “we need to find Robert before they make him sign anything else.””
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