Chapter 6 - THE TITLE COMPANY STOPPED THE CLOCK
Donna’s envelope did not magically transfer the Sedona acreage to anyone.
That mattered.
I had seen too many real-estate disputes to confuse a dramatic old document with a clean legal conclusion.
Evelyn referred Donna to separate counsel.
Trust lawyers reviewed the papers.
A title specialist examined the historic chain.
The title insurer was formally notified.
The buyer extended due diligence.
The closing stopped.
Temporarily.
That alone was devastating enough.
Hattie called me seventeen times.
I answered once.
“You've ruined everything.”
“No.”
“You have no idea what you've done.”
“Your title problem existed before I was born.”
“Donna manufactured that paperwork.”
“Then prove it.”
“She was always jealous.”
“Of what?”
Hattie stopped.
I waited.
“Of my family.”
Then the line went dead.
Serena retained her own attorney.
Vale Meridian opened an internal review.
She did not become my ally.
She became someone protecting her career.
That distinction made her more believable.
Eventually, through counsel, she provided a voicemail.
Recorded eight months earlier.
Hattie:
“Donna Reyes is alive?”
Michael:
“Apparently.”
Hattie:
“Then find out what she kept.”
Michael:
“And if she has it?”
Pause.
Hattie:
“Then your wife finally becomes useful.”
I listened twice.
Serena sat across from me.
“I didn't know what she meant.”
“You knew Michael was married.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was investigating my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Hattie wanted something from my family.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Then don't ask me to make you innocent.”
“I’m not.”
Good.
I could work with guilt that didn't demand absolution.
Vale Meridian paused the transaction completely pending title review.
Michael's firm placed him on leave from the project.
Hattie’s debt continued accumulating.
Then Donna showed me something she had kept separate from the trust papers.
An old photograph.
A hospital room.
Ruth Greer, young and exhausted.
Holding a newborn.
Beside the bed stood Hattie.
“What happened to the baby?”
Donna shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You said Ruth was pregnant when she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Did she leave with him?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The next time I saw Ruth, there was no baby.”
“What did she say?”
Donna looked at the photograph.
“She said Harriet had him.”
I felt cold.
“Hattie?”
“She said Warren decided Ruth was unstable.”
I examined the back.
Handwritten date:
May 12, 1991.
Michael was born in 1991.
I looked up too quickly.
Donna immediately said:
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Don't turn a photograph into proof.”
She was right.
A photograph wasn't DNA.
A date wasn't maternity.
A suspicion wasn't fact.
May you like
Still, for the first time, the land dispute and my marriage appeared connected by something even stranger than money.
Michael might not be Hattie’s biological son.
