Chương 7
Margaret’s mouth tightened.
He almost apologized.
Did not.
They stood there carrying separate versions of poverty inside a house worth millions.
Finally Margaret said, “Your father promised I would never have to leave.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“The day he signed the deed.”
Margaret sat slowly on the arm of the sofa.
Daniel walked to a drawer beneath the built-in shelves.
He took out a folder he had kept there since his father died.
Inside were copies of property records, tax statements, insurance notices, and one handwritten page from notes Daniel had taken after the meeting with Charles’s attorney.
He did not hand it to her.
“It wasn’t part of the deed,” he said. “Dad wanted the lawyer to prepare an occupancy agreement for you.”
Margaret’s face went still.
“He never did.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you refused to sign anything after you found out about the transfer.”
“I refused because I was furious.”
“I know.”
“You told me there was no agreement.”
“There wasn’t.”
“You could have told me he asked for one.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Daniel looked at the folder.
“I was angry too.”
Margaret stared at him.
It was the first thing he had admitted that seemed to reach her.
“You wanted me afraid.”
He did not answer quickly enough.
Her face changed.
“Oh my God.”
“Mom—”
“You wanted me to think you could put me out.”
“I never told you to leave.”
“You made sure I knew you could.”
Daniel felt heat rise into his face.
“I paid every bill on this place.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
She waited.
He hated her for making him say it.
“I wanted leverage.”
Margaret nodded once.
She looked almost calm.
“There he is.”
Daniel took the insult because part of it was true.
His father had transferred the house to him to solve a financial problem. Charles had also asked Daniel to ensure Margaret could live there for the rest of her life.
Daniel had done the first part perfectly.
He had preserved the second as an unwritten promise he could revoke whenever Margaret became difficult.
He had told himself he was protecting the property.
Sometimes he had been.
Sometimes he had enjoyed having the final word.
Margaret stood.
“I should go.”
“Emily’s looking for you.”
“I’ll call her.”
“Call the detectives too.”
She looked at him.
“You want me to confess.”
“I want you to stop lying.”
“If I tell them everything, I could go to prison.”
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
“You hide it well.”
Daniel put the folder back.
“Mom, I can’t make this disappear.”
“You made the first deed happen.”
“Dad made it happen.”
“With your help.”
“That was legal.”
“You always have that word.”
“You forged a dead man’s signature.”
Her chin trembled.
“Your father was not a dead man to me.”
Daniel said nothing.
Margaret picked up her purse.
At the door she stopped.
“I heard him breathing for hours after the hospice nurse said it had changed.”
Daniel looked at her back.
“I kept thinking if I counted the breaths, I could keep them going. I counted to four hundred and then lost my place. Started again. I don’t know how many times.”
She opened the door.
“He died at eight eleven. At eleven thirty I was still sitting beside him. At one I found the folder from the lawyer. The draft deed was inside.”
Daniel frowned.
“What draft deed?”
Margaret turned.
“The one giving the house back to me.”
For several seconds neither moved.
Daniel felt the floor change beneath the entire story.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Rachel.”
“My lawyer didn’t represent Dad.”
“Ask his attorney, then.”
“Dad had a draft deed?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“You forged the one you filed from that draft?”
Margaret’s eyes filled again.
“He was going to sign it.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
Daniel stared at her.
“When?”
“The afternoon before he died.”
“You’re lying.”
Margaret’s face hardened.
“Of course.”
“Where’s the draft?”
“The police probably have it now.”
“Why wasn’t it in his estate file?”
“I took it.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Did Dad actually tell you he intended to transfer the house back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret laughed weakly.
“You should ask yourself.”
Then she left.
Daniel called Charles’s former attorney from the driveway.
Martin Hale was seventy-two now and practiced only three days a week. It took twenty minutes to get him on the phone.
Daniel stood under the entrance roof looking at the rainwater still collected in shallow dips between the stones.
“Hale.”
“It’s Daniel Mercer.”
A pause.
“I heard there’s trouble.”
“Was there a draft deed transferring the lake house back to my mother?”
Silence.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Martin.”
“There was a draft.”
His stomach dropped.
“When?”
“About three weeks before Charles died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it was a draft prepared at my client’s request.”
“Dad asked you to prepare it?”
“Yes.”
“Did he sign it?”
“No.”
“Did he say he intended to?”
“He said he was considering changing the arrangement.”
“Considering?”
“Yes.”
“My mother says he told her he was going to sign it.”
“I can’t tell you what he told Margaret.”
“What did he tell you?”
Hale exhaled.
“He was angry with you.”
Daniel looked toward the lake.
“About what?”
“The occupancy agreement.”
“I told him she refused.”
“That wasn’t the only issue.”
Daniel felt irritation rising again.
“Then tell me.”
“Charles believed you were using the lack of an agreement to control her.”
Daniel laughed once.
It sounded terrible even to him.
“Did he say that?”
“Almost exactly.”
Daniel sat on the stone step.
The wet air smelled like pine and mud.
“What else?”
“He wanted options. One option was transferring the house back to Margaret. Another was creating a life estate or formal lifetime occupancy right for her while leaving title with you.”
“Why draft the deed?”
May you like
“Because he asked me to.”
“Why not the occupancy agreement?”
