Chapter 3 - THE NAME ON THE DEED
“That’s impossible,” Melissa said, her face pale. She snatched at the paper, but I pulled it back.
The attorney, whose name I still didn’t know, lost his smug smile. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning the document in my hand.
“Let me see that,” he demanded.
“No,” I said, folding it and putting it in my pocket alongside the silver key. “You can see it when my lawyer sends it to you. Now get out of my house.”
He didn’t move immediately. He looked at Melissa with cold disdain. “Thorne expects his money by Friday, Melissa. Or we take the boy’s tuition fund, too. Don’t think we don’t know about the private school.”
Melissa let out a choked sob.
“Get out!” I shouted, pointing at the front door.
The attorney smoothed his tie, picked up his leather folder, and walked out without another word. The front door clicked shut, leaving a heavy, terrifying silence in the living room.
Aunt Carol stood up, her purse clutched to her chest. “I think I should go. Diane, call me tomorrow.” She scurried out, clearly wanting no part of the disaster unfolding.
I turned to my sister.
“Leo’s tuition fund?” I asked, my voice low. “You told me you were drowning in debt from his medical bills. Now he’s in private school?”
Melissa wiped her face with the back of her hand, smudging her makeup. “It’s a special needs school, Claire! You know he struggles. I wanted him to have a chance.”
“By making Mom homeless?”
“I didn’t know Thorne was going to take everything!” she screamed defensively. “I thought we’d have enough left to take care of her.”
Mom sat in her chair, staring blankly at the fireplace. “Your father transferred the house to you, Claire?”
I knelt beside her again. “Yes, Mom. I found the paper in your blue notebook months ago. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to feel like it wasn’t your home anymore. I was just holding onto it to protect us.”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look relieved. She looked terrified.
“Claire,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “When did you find that deed?”
“Around Christmas,” I said, confused. “Why?”
“I didn’t put it in the notebook.”
I frowned. “Then who did?”
Mom looked past me, toward the hallway. Standing in the shadows near the kitchen door was a small figure.
It was Leo.
My eight-year-old nephew stepped into the light of the living room. He was wearing his Spider-Man pajamas, clutching something shiny in his small hands.
“Leo?” Melissa gasped. “Honey, you’re supposed to be in the car with the iPad. How did you get inside?”
“The back door was open,” Leo said softly. He didn’t look at his mother. He walked straight toward me.
He held out his hands. Cupped in his palms was my father’s gold pocket watch—the one that had gone missing the week Dad died.
“Where did you get that?” I breathed, taking the heavy gold watch from him.
May you like
Leo pointed toward the hallway, toward the bedroom where the heat never worked. My bedroom.
“The man in your room gave it to me,” Leo said. “He said to tell you the debt isn’t paid yet.”
