Dad grabs the papers, glaring at them like they personally betrayed him. His eyes dart over the lines, then back again as if hoping the words will rearrange themselves.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour grandfather wouldn\u2019t cut me out like this,\u201d he mutters.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t,\u201d I say. \u201cYou received the other three properties. The commercial building downtown, the duplex on Riverside, and the strip mall in Oakmont. 1247 Westbrook went to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom leans over his shoulder, reading. Her lips move silently as she traces the paragraph with her finger.<\/p>\n
The residential building at 1247 Westbrook Avenue is hereby transferred to Cassandra Morrison, effective immediately upon the death of Harold Morrison.<\/p>\n
She looks up at me, eyes wide. \u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t you tell us?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGrandpa asked me not to,\u201d I say simply. \u201cHe said Dad wouldn\u2019t read the paperwork anyway, and he was right. For four years, you\u2019ve all assumed the building was in a family trust while I\u2019ve been managing it, maintaining it, paying all the expenses, and collecting rent.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRent?\u201d Dad\u2019s head snaps up. \u201cWhat rent?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe other five units are occupied,\u201d I remind him. \u201cThey\u2019ve been rented out the entire time. That\u2019s how I pay for the building\u2019s maintenance, property taxes, insurance, and improvements.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been collecting money from family property?\u201d he demands.<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom my property,\u201d I correct. \u201cMy building, my rental income, my responsibility.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shannon suddenly leans forward. \u201cBut we need that apartment,\u201d she says, voice tight. \u201cFor the baby. We won\u2019t have enough room where we are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are other two-bedroom apartments in the city,\u201d I say. \u201cI can give you a list of comparable properties if you\u2019d like.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can\u2019t afford market rate,\u201d she says, sounding desperate.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not my problem,\u201d I say, and the words come out colder than I intended. But I don\u2019t take them back.<\/p>\n
Eric slams his palm onto the desk, making the letter jump. \u201cThis isn\u2019t what Grandpa would have wanted,\u201d he says hotly. \u201cHe loved this family. He wanted us to have security. He would never have wanted you to hoard everything like some dragon\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGrandpa specifically wanted this,\u201d I cut in. \u201cHe put it in writing. He filed it properly. He made sure his attorney documented his capacity. He knew exactly what he was doing.\u201d<\/p>\n
My father\u2019s face is a color I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever seen before\u2014somewhere between purple and gray. \u201cHe was sick,\u201d he says. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t thinking clearly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was completely lucid when he signed the amendment,\u201d I reply. \u201cAnd for months afterward. His doctor documented it. His attorney documented it. Patricia has all of it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you\u2019re just,\u201d Mom says, voice thick with tears, \u201cyou\u2019re just going to keep it all for yourself? While your brother and his wife struggle?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to continue managing my property as I have been,\u201d I say. \u201cIf you want to rent one of the units, you can apply like any other prospective tenant.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad stares at me incredulously. \u201cRent. From my own daughter?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom the property owner who happens to be your daughter,\u201d I say. \u201cThere\u2019s a waiting list, but I\u2019d move family to the front if you\u2019re serious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d Eric demands.<\/p>\n
\u201cMarket rate for a two-bedroom in my building is $2,400 a month right now,\u201d I say. \u201cWhich is actually below market for the neighborhood. I keep rents a little lower than I could get because I prefer stable, long-term tenants.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s insane,\u201d Shannon whispers.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the market,\u201d I shrug. \u201cI can show you comparable listings.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad is still flipping through the trust copies, looking for some escape clause that doesn\u2019t exist.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been managing this building for four years,\u201d he says slowly. \u201cThe rental income\u2026 you should have been sharing that with the family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause we\u2019re family,\u201d he says, as if it\u2019s obvious.<\/p>\n
I meet his gaze head-on. \u201cBeing family doesn\u2019t create financial obligations. You don\u2019t share income from your properties with me. You don\u2019t deposit half the strip mall profits into my bank account every month. Grandpa gave you assets. He gave me one. I\u2019ve managed mine responsibly. Have you?\u201d<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
On Friday, I find out just how much he and Eric have absorbed from our conversation. Which is to say: almost nothing.<\/p>\n
I come home from a coffee meeting with a client to find Eric in my living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes.<\/p>\n
He\u2019s folding my clothes into one of them, badly, cramming my sweaters in like they\u2019re trash bags instead of cashmere I saved up for.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d I demand, the word ripping out of me.<\/p>\n
He looks up, flushed with exertion and something else\u2014triumph. \u201cHelping you pack,\u201d he says. \u201cSince you\u2019re being stubborn about this, Shannon and I decided we\u2019re moving in anyway. You can either leave peacefully, or we\u2019ll make it difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n
My whole body goes cold and hot at the same time.<\/p>\n
\u201cEric,\u201d I say carefully, \u201cyou need to leave. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr what?\u201d he scoffs. \u201cYou\u2019ll call Dad? He agrees with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. \u201cI\u2019ll call the police. You\u2019re trespassing in my private residence, after receiving a legal notice to stay away.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughs like I\u2019m being dramatic. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t dare.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hit the emergency call button. \u201cHi,\u201d I say when the dispatcher picks up. \u201cI need to report a trespassing in progress. My brother has illegally entered my apartment and is refusing to leave. Yes, I\u2019m safe. I\u2019m by the door.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eric\u2019s bravado falters. \u201cCassie, come on. Don\u2019t be ridiculous. This is family business.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a legal matter,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
The dispatcher confirms my address and says officers are on their way. I stay in the doorway between the hall and the living room, effectively blocking Eric from leaving with any of my things. He fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re really doing this,\u201d he mutters.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou broke into my home,\u201d I say. \u201cAgain. After being told in writing not to. What did you think was going to happen?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Dad grabs the papers, glaring at them like they personally betrayed him. His eyes dart over the lines, then back again as if hoping the words will rearrange themselves. \u201cYour … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6145,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6149","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6149","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6149"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6149\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6156,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6149\/revisions\/6156"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/6145"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6149"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6149"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6149"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}