…the deed. He claims you transferred the house to him as a gift.”
The county hadn’t processed it yet. My attorney, Ms. Ruiz, filed a fraud notice with the recorder’s office that afternoon, then a letter revoking any authority I might have accidentally given my son, Gary.
I didn’t tell Gary. I accepted his invitation for New Year’s Eve, then told him that afternoon I wasn’t feeling well and would stay home.
At nine a.m. on January 1st, a locksmith’s van pulled into my driveway. My daughter-in-law, Rhonda, was in the passenger seat. Her mother was in the back.
I opened my front door in my bathrobe, holding a cup of coffee. A police officer was sitting in my living room. Ms. Ruiz had arranged it.
The locksmith took one look at the officer, apologized and drove away. Rhonda’s mother stayed in the car. Rhonda tried to tell the officer I’d “invited” them. He showed her the fraud notice.
Gary called me that night. He said Rhonda had made all the arrangements. I told him he’d signed the transfer request himself. He went quiet.
I’ve lived in this house for forty-five years. I raised Gary here. On New Year’s Day, I made a pot of black-eyed peas for luck, like my mother always did. I ate them at my own kitchen table, with my own key in my pocket.
