Chapter 2 - I Had Been Living With Margaret Because of a Renovation That Didn’t Exist
Five months earlier, Aaron told me we had a serious moisture problem.
Mold behind the downstairs walls.
Possible structural damage.
The contractor supposedly recommended we move out immediately because Caleb was too young to risk exposure.
I believed him.
Why wouldn’t I?
Aaron worked in residential construction management.
He understood houses.
I didn’t.
Within four days, we moved into Margaret’s large suburban home outside Richmond, Virginia.
Temporary, Aaron said.
Six weeks at most.
Six weeks became three months.
Three became five.
Every time I asked about progress, Aaron had an answer.
Permits.
Insurance disputes.
Material delays.
A damaged beam.
A subcontractor problem.
I never saw the work because Aaron said the house was unsafe.
Then my ankle injury made everything worse.
Margaret began controlling practical things.
Car keys.
Caleb’s feeding schedule.
When I could shower.
When I could “rest.”
She called it helping.
Aaron called it keeping peace.
I called it temporary.
Until Dad opened that envelope.
We went inside.
Margaret followed.
“You have no right to read my son’s documents.”
Dad ignored her.
Aaron reached for the folder.
Dad moved it out of reach.
“Sit down.”
Aaron laughed nervously.
“You don’t get to order me around.”
Dad looked at him.
“Then explain it voluntarily.”
I took the papers.
The first page was a settlement statement.
Property address:
Our house.
Seller:
Elena Brooks and Aaron Brooks.
Buyer:
M&B Residential Holdings LLC.
Closing date:
Three months earlier.
My hands began shaking.
“I never sold the house.”
Aaron said:
“You signed the authorization.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Margaret folded her arms.
“You sign things without reading.”
I looked at her.
Then at Aaron.
“What is M&B?”
Neither answered.
Dad asked:
“Who owns it?”
Aaron rubbed his forehead.
“Mom has part of it.”
I stared at Margaret.
My mother-in-law had bought my house.
Not from us.
From behind my back.
Then I saw the sale price.
$465,000.
Our house had recently appraised near $710,000.
I looked at Aaron.
“You sold our house to your mother for almost two hundred and fifty thousand below market?”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“It looks extremely simple.”
Then Dad noticed something else.
“Elena, where did your down payment originally come from?”
“My grandmother’s trust.”
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Premarital money.
Used for the house after Aaron and I married.
Dad’s jaw tightened.
That wasn’t only a home.
It contained a substantial piece of my separate family money.
Then he asked:
“Where are the sale proceeds?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
And suddenly I realized there might be an even worse possibility.
May you like
Maybe the house had been sold.
But the money never came to me.
