PART 2
I read the deed three times sitting on the laundry room floor.
Then I almost laughed.
Because Lonnie had made one huge mistake.
When my father got sick, years ago, he put our house into a family trust. My mother and I are co-trustees. I signed the paperwork the day I turned eighteen.
That means the house doesn’t belong to my mother alone.
She couldn’t give it away by herself even if she wanted to. Not without my signature.
Lonnie didn’t know. He’d never asked.
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat next to my mother, listening to her breathe, and made a list.
At 8 a.m., I called my old supervisor at Adult Protective Services, Ms. Arellano.
“Julian,” she said after I told her. “Don’t confront them. I’m sending a caseworker and calling the sheriff. Stay with your mother.”
The caseworker and two deputies arrived at 9:30.
