My father muttered, “Diane, I told you we needed to slow this down.”
Kelsey spun toward him.
“You promised us a house.”
“We promised help,” he said. “We talked about a deposit, maybe a town home. Not this.”
Ryan put both hands on his head.
“Mom said it was handled.”
“Mom was not the buyer,” I said. “Dad was not the buyer. You were not the buyer. Kelsey was not the buyer. I was.”
Kelsey pointed at me.
“You set us up.”
I laughed once, very quietly.
“I bought a house. You moved into it without checking the deed.”
“You knew we thought it was ours,” she snapped.
“I knew you were acting like it was yours. That is different.”
Ryan looked sick.
“Why didn’t you say something when you got here?”
I turned to him.
“Why didn’t you ask why I was here?”
He had no answer.
Kelsey tried another angle.
“You cannot afford this. You drive a 12-year-old car.”
“Verified funds cleared before closing,” I said. “Miranda Scott can confirm it.”
My mother grabbed my sleeve.
“Please do not bring lawyers into a family misunderstanding.”
I gently removed her hand.
“This stopped being a misunderstanding when they carried a king bed into my primary bedroom.”
Then I called Miranda on speaker.
She answered on the third ring, calm as always.
“Jenna?”
I said, “I’m at the Annapolis property. There are people here who believed they had permission to move in. Can you confirm ownership?”
Kelsey scoffed loudly, but her hands were shaking.
Miranda paused for one professional second.
“You are the sole legal owner of the property. No other individual has ownership rights based on the documents recorded after closing.”
“And if they refuse to leave?” I asked.
“Then we treat it as unauthorized occupancy and proceed formally. I recommend documenting everything and giving written notice immediately.”
[snorts]
The room changed after that.
Not emotionally. Legally.
The movers had already left for lunch. Kelsey’s relatives had taken pictures in front of the porch. Ryan had forwarded the address to co-workers.