“Your father made arrangements,” she said. “He wanted you protected.”
Inside was a deed. My name. Dated three years ago.
“It’s yours,” she said. “He transferred it to you before marrying Carolina. She’s been living in your home all this time.”
I stared at the paper. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was afraid she’d find out and challenge it. I’ve been the trustee. He paid the mortgage from an account she never knew existed.”
My mother’s smile was cool, resolute. “Let’s go let her know she’s trespassing.”
Carolina answered the door, her practiced warmth vanishing as soon as my mother held up the deed.
“You’re living on James’s property,” my mother said. “You have no legal claim.”
Carolina paled. “That’s not possible.”
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