Chapter 5
I didn't sleep on my wedding night.
Marcus tried.
He held me.
He told me we would handle everything.
He reminded me that we had already taken the first step by contacting an attorney.
But every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Grandma's house.
The blue front door.
The porch swing.
The little ceramic bird beside the kitchen window.
I imagined strangers changing the locks.
I imagined losing the place where Grandma had loved me when my mother made me feel invisible.
At four in the morning, I finally sat up.
Marcus opened his eyes.
"Baby?"
I looked at him.
"I'm scared."
He pulled me close.
"I know."
"What if they take the house?"
He kissed my forehead.
"We're going to find out exactly what happened before assuming the worst."
I nodded.
He was right.
But fear didn't care about logic.
By eight o'clock, I had called the attorney Grandma used for her estate.
Her name was Camille Reed.
She was a calm Black woman in her fifties who had known Grandma Ruth for years.
When I explained what happened, she became serious.
"Nia, don't sign anything."
"I won't."
"Don't make any payments until we understand the claimed obligation."
I nodded.
"And bring every document you have."
Marcus drove me to her office.
I wore jeans and a sweater.
My wedding dress was hanging in our bedroom.
Only hours earlier, I had been a bride surrounded by flowers.
Now I was sitting in a law office trying to protect my grandmother's property.
Camille reviewed the deed.
Then the documents Vanessa had finally emailed.
She read quietly.
Her expression changed several times.
Finally, she looked up.
"Nia, this application contains a signature purporting to be yours."
I nodded.
"I didn't sign it."
"Did you authorize anyone to sign on your behalf?"
"No."
"Did you provide identification for this transaction?"
"No."
She made notes.
Then turned another page.
"The lender's file lists an email address that isn't yours."
My stomach tightened.
"What address?"
She read it aloud.
It belonged to Vanessa.
Marcus leaned forward.
"So the lender communicated with her?"
"That's what the documents suggest."
I felt sick.
Camille continued.
"The current records do not establish that a valid mortgage or lien has been created against the house."
I exhaled.
"Does that mean it's safe?"
"It means we have a strong reason to challenge the claimed authorization. We still need to investigate and secure the records."
I nodded.
She explained the next steps.
Contact the lender's fraud department.
Preserve the documents.
Report the suspected forgery.
Review the property records.
And act quickly if anyone attempted to enforce an unauthorized obligation.
I listened carefully.
For years, my mother told me I was too emotional.
Too sensitive.
Too dramatic.
Now I was learning that being frightened didn't make me incapable.
I could ask questions.
I could understand documents.
I could protect what Grandma left me.
After the meeting, Marcus drove us to Grandma's house.
I hadn't visited in three weeks.
We'd been busy preparing for the wedding.
The moment I saw the blue shutters, I began crying.
Marcus parked in the driveway.
He didn't rush me.
I sat looking at the house.
Then whispered, "I promised Grandma I'd take care of it."
He squeezed my hand.
"You are."
We went inside.
The house smelled faintly of lavender and old wood.
Grandma's photographs still lined the hallway.
Her favorite blanket rested on the sofa.
I walked into the kitchen.
Then sat in her chair.
For a moment, I imagined her across from me.
"Don't let anybody bully you, Nia."
She used to say that whenever I cried about Mom or Vanessa.
I wished she were there.
I wished she could tell me what to do.
Marcus sat beside me.
"Tell me about her."
I smiled through tears.
"She used to wake up at five to make biscuits."
He laughed softly.
"Sounds like you."
I nodded.
"She hated wasting food."
I looked around.
"She kept every birthday card we ever gave her."
Marcus smiled.
"Even Vanessa's?"
"Even Vanessa's."
My throat tightened.
Grandma had loved us equally.
She had simply understood that treating people fairly didn't always mean giving them identical things.
She gave Vanessa money because Vanessa said she wanted to start a business.
She gave me the house because I had spent years helping her maintain it.
Both choices were deliberate.
I wished my sister could understand that.
Then I noticed something on the kitchen counter.
A small stack of envelopes.
Most were ordinary mail.
But one was from Pinecrest Capital.
My stomach tightened.
I picked it up.
The envelope was addressed to me.
At Grandma's house.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a payment notice.
The account showed a balance of sixty thousand dollars.
And a payment date that had already passed.
I looked at Marcus.
He read it.
Then frowned.
"Nia, this isn't the first notice."
I stared.
"What?"
He pointed toward the bottom.
"Second delinquency warning."
My heart began racing.
I searched the stack.
Another envelope appeared.
Then another.
The lender had been sending notices to Grandma's house for weeks.
Vanessa never told me.
I sat heavily.
Marcus called Camille.
He explained what we'd found.
She instructed us to preserve the notices and send copies.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
"Nia, there may be more than one forged document."
I closed my eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"The lender's file also references a personal guarantee."
I looked at Marcus.
He looked equally concerned.
May you like
Camille continued.
"And that guarantee appears to include your husband's name."
