“Clare, what are you thinking?”
“If we stop them now, they’ll call it a misunderstanding. They’ll blame the fake lawyer and try again later. Let them show up with movers. Let them attempt to take possession of the house. Then there is no confusion.”
David was quiet for a few seconds.
“That is bold. Legally, it is also very smart. I’ll make the calls. You will not be alone Friday.”
Friday morning came clear and cold. I made coffee and sat near the bay window, watching the street. At exactly nine, a moving truck pulled up. Julia’s white BMW came behind it, then my parents’ SUV. A man in a shiny tailored suit stepped out carrying a leather briefcase. He introduced himself as Richard Blackwood, Julia’s attorney.
Julia rang the bell like it was the last time I would ever answer my own door.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. I hope you packed. The movers are on the clock.”
I opened the door.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The fake attorney stepped forward.
“Miss Clare Thompson, I have a court-sanctioned transfer order and writ of possession. You are legally required to vacate immediately.”
I smiled politely.
“Please come in. I’d love to see these documents.”
They walked inside full of confidence. The man opened his briefcase and laid out the papers. I photographed each page slowly with my phone.
“These are very thorough. Which firm prepared them?”
“Blackwood and Associates,” he said. “We specialize in complex estate corrections.”
“And all of you are confident these documents are legitimate?”
“I stake my professional reputation on it,” he said.
Julia rolled her eyes.
“Clare, stop stalling. You lost.”
My father nodded.
“This house should have benefited the whole family.”
My mother added,
“Some people can’t handle responsibility.”
I walked to the front window, pulled back the lace curtain, and turned to them.
“Actually, there’s someone here you should meet.”
Then I opened the front door.
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