Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE THEY KEPT CALLING THEIRS
The house belonged to Harold.
That surprised me.
For years Marcus and Kaia referred to it as:
“Our place.”
Technically, they had lived there for six years.
But Harold owned it.
He and his late wife, Eleanor, bought it decades earlier.
Kaia was Eleanor's daughter from her first marriage.
Harold helped raise her from age nine.
Paid college tuition.
Paid for her wedding.
Walked her down the aisle after her biological father declined to attend.
Then Eleanor died.
Harold stayed.
Kaia and Marcus moved in after his stroke “temporarily.”
Temporary became two years.
The property had also become extremely valuable.
A new commercial-development corridor had pushed the estimated value above $2 million.
“That explains motive,” I said.
Dana shook her head.
“Not yet.”
I was learning to hate lawyers for sentences like that.
Harold's will did leave Kaia a significant portion of his estate.
But not everything.
And not immediately.
More importantly, death was not necessary for Kaia to benefit from controlling his finances.
The power of attorney gave her authority to pay bills, manage investment accounts, and handle real-estate transactions for Harold's benefit.
For his benefit.
That phrase mattered.
“What has she done with it?” Dana asked.
Harold opened another folder.
Transfers.
At first:
Utilities.
Taxes.
Home-care expenses.
Medical bills.
Normal.
Then payments to Bennett Restoration Group.
Marcus's company.
$7,800.
$14,200.
$22,000.
I recognized the name immediately.
My son renovated historic properties.
“Did his company do work here?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Accessible bathroom. Ramp. Kitchen modifications.”
“Were the charges fair?”
Harold hesitated.
“Some.”
That complicated my relief.
Not every transfer was theft.
Dana ordered a forensic review rather than declaring one.
Then she searched public real-estate filings.
No deed transfer.
No new mortgage.
Nothing dramatic.
But in Harold's email she found correspondence with a property developer.
A proposed purchase.
$2.35 million.
Closing target:
January 20.
Harold stared.
“I never agreed to sell.”
Dana opened the attached document.
Kaia had signed it:
Harold Sloan, by Kaia Bennett, Attorney-in-Fact.
My stomach tightened.
“Can she do that?”
“Possibly execute documents on his behalf if the power authorizes it.”
Dana kept reading.
“But only while acting within her fiduciary duties.”
The contract contained an unusual provision.
Property delivered vacant.
If Harold remained in residence past January 20, the buyer could terminate.
January 15:
Nursing-home intake.
January 20:
Vacant-house closing.
That looked like motive.
Too neat.
Harold read the pages without speaking.
Then said:
“There's something you're missing.”
“What?”
“I spoke to that developer.”
Dana looked up.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“About selling?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You told me you never agreed.”
“I never agreed to this sale.”
May you like
There it was again.
The story refusing to stay simple.
