Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WAS NEVER HISJulian didn't sit down.
He laughed.
It wasn't a nervous laugh, either. It was the confident laugh of a man who had spent so long getting away with things that he had forgotten consequences existed.
"Okay," he said. "This should be entertaining."
Khloe shot him a look.
"Julian."
"What?"
"Just stop talking."
That interested me.
My sister knew something he didn't.
I removed the deed from the folder and unfolded it across the patio table.
Julian barely looked at it.
"I don't care what old paperwork you brought."
"You should."
"It's a deed," Khloe whispered.
His eyes finally dropped.
I pointed to the name printed beneath the ownership line.
NATALIE MARIE CARTER.
His expression changed.
Only briefly.
Then arrogance returned.
"That doesn't prove anything."
"It proves I own this house."
"No, it proves you owned it once."
"I still do."
Khloe grabbed my arm.
"Natalie, can we please talk inside?"
I pulled free.
"Mom is coming with me first."
"I said she's fine."
"And I heard her say absolutely nothing."
All three of us looked at Mom.
She stood beside the bucket with her rubber gloves hanging from one hand.
I'd spent years talking to her through video calls. Sometimes she looked tired, but she always blamed gardening, church events, or getting older.
Now I wondered how many times Khloe had been standing just outside the camera.
Mom swallowed.
"I'd like to change clothes."
"Of course."
She took two steps toward the door.
Julian blocked her.
"Where are you going?"
Mom stopped.
I stared at him.
"Move."
"I wasn't talking to you."
"You are now."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Julian stepped aside.
Mom hurried inside.
Khloe followed.
I did too.
The house barely resembled the home I'd bought.
Mom's floral curtains were gone.
Her family photographs had disappeared from the hallway.
The old oak dining table Dad had left behind after the divorce had been replaced by glass and chrome.
There were liquor bottles displayed where Mom once kept framed photographs of her grandchildren from cousins and friends.
And beside the staircase hung a giant black-and-white wedding portrait.
Khloe and Julian.
No photograph of Mom anywhere.
"What happened to Mom's things?"
Khloe sighed.
"We updated."
"You erased her."
"Oh, God. Here we go."
She marched into the kitchen.
The kitchen was worse.
Every appliance had been replaced with luxury versions.
A wine refrigerator occupied the corner where Mom's little breakfast bench used to sit.
Julian poured himself another drink.
At one in the afternoon.
I looked around.
"Where's Mom's room?"
Khloe stopped.
"Upstairs."
I walked toward the staircase.
She rushed in front of me.
"Natalie."
"Move."
"Can we talk like adults first?"
"After I see where Mom sleeps."
"You're being dramatic."
Something about that sentence made me certain I needed to keep walking.
I passed the master suite.
Empty.
Second bedroom.
Guest room.
Third bedroom.
Julian's home office.
"Where is she?"
Khloe followed several feet behind me.
"Downstairs."
"You just said upstairs."
"I meant—"
I was already moving.
There was one staircase leading from the kitchen into the basement.
The basement had originally been unfinished except for a furnace, water heater, and storage room.
I switched on the light.
Concrete floor.
Cardboard boxes.
Old exercise equipment.
A narrow folding cot stood in the corner.
There was a pillow on it.
A blanket.
Mom's purse hung from a nail.
For the first time since arriving, I couldn't breathe.
"You moved her into the basement?"
"It isn't like that."
I turned.
"Then explain what it is like."
Khloe's face reddened.
"We needed the bedrooms."
"For what?"
"Julian works from home."
"That's one room."
"We have guests."
"You put your sixty-two-year-old mother beside a water heater so guests could have bedrooms?"
"She agreed!"
"Did she?"
"Yes!"
"Mom!"
My voice echoed through the house.
Seconds later, she appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a clean sweater and dark pants.
She looked terrified.
"Baby, please don't fight."
I walked up.
"Did you agree to sleep down here?"
Mom looked at Khloe.
That answered me.
I turned back to my sister.
"What happened?"
"You left," Khloe snapped.
The words hit harder than I expected.
"What?"
"You left America. You got your big career, your overseas salary, your glamorous life. I stayed."
"Stayed where?"
"Here! Taking care of everything."
"By making Mom scrub floors?"
"I didn't make her do anything."
"Then why is she afraid to answer me?"
Julian appeared behind Khloe.
"Because you're upsetting her."
I laughed.
"You're unbelievable."
He folded his arms.
"Maybe you should remember you disappeared for six years."
"I called every week."
"Phone calls aren't family."
"And turning someone's mother into unpaid domestic help is?"
His jaw tightened.
Mom grabbed my hand.
"Natalie."
I looked at her.
"Please. Let's just go."
Her voice was barely audible.
That stopped me.
She wasn't asking me to forgive them.
She wanted out.
I nodded.
"Okay."
I took her upstairs.
She packed one small suitcase.
That was all she seemed to own now.
Three sweaters.
Two pairs of pants.
Medication.
An old Bible.
A photograph of Khloe and me as children.
I noticed an envelope tucked beneath her clothes.
Mom quickly pushed it deeper into the suitcase.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
I didn't challenge her.
Not yet.
We returned downstairs.
Julian stood beside the front door.
"She can't take anything belonging to this household."
I stared at him.
"You mean her clothes?"
"I'm saying you've barged into our lives and—"
"Your lives?"
I pulled out my phone.
"Let's solve this."
I called the attorney who had handled the property purchase six years earlier.
Miraculously, he answered.
"Daniel? Natalie Carter."
"Natalie! It's been years."
"I need you to confirm something."
"Sure."
"The Willow Creek property. Twelve seventy-four Hawthorne Ridge."
"What about it?"
"Current titleholder?"
There was keyboard clicking.
Then:
"You."
I put him on speaker.
Julian's face hardened.
"Any transfers?" I asked.
"No."
"Any liens?"
A pause.
"That's strange."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"There was an attempted refinance inquiry seventeen months ago."
I looked at Khloe.
Her face drained.
"Attempted by whom?"
"I'm looking at it now. The application appears to have been submitted under Martha Carter's name."
Mom gasped.
"I never applied for a loan."
Daniel went quiet.
Then he said, "Natalie, you need to call me privately."
I ended the speakerphone call.
Julian immediately turned toward Khloe.
"What did you do?"
She stared at him.
"Me?"
"Don't."
"You were the one who said—"
"Stop."
They realized too late that I was listening.
I moved between them and the door.
"What loan?"
Neither answered.
I looked at Mom.
Her eyes filled.
"Mom?"
She sat down.
Her shoulders shook.
"I thought it was just papers for insurance."
"What papers?"
She covered her face.
"Khloe kept bringing me things to sign."
The room became very quiet.
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"Mom."
"Maybe twelve. Maybe more."
I turned slowly toward my sister.
"What did she sign?"
Khloe backed away.
"You don't understand."
"Then help me."
Julian grabbed his car keys.
"I'm not doing this."
I blocked him.
"You're not going anywhere."
"You can't stop me."
"No."
I raised my phone.
"But the police might."
Khloe's face collapsed.
"You wouldn't."
I looked at the basement door.
At my mother's suitcase.
At the woman who had once worked double shifts so Khloe could go to college.
Then back at my sister.
"You don't know me anymore."
Mom and I left ten minutes later.
As I drove away, she sat silently beside me.
Halfway to the hotel, she suddenly whispered, "Natalie, there's something else."
I pulled onto the shoulder.
"What?"
She opened her suitcase and removed the envelope.
Inside were bank statements.
Credit card bills.
And one typed agreement carrying Mom's signature.
At the top were four words.
LIFE ESTATE TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
May you like
My mother looked at me.
"I think they tried to take your house."
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