the disputed transfer.
With the attorney’s guidance, I hired a locksmith to secure the exterior doors and a contractor to install three visible security cameras.
One covered the driveway.
One watched the porch.
The third faced the dock.
I also photographed the property, inventoried its contents, and placed June’s personal belongings in the locked workshop.
I didn’t want revenge.
I wanted the house to remain standing, untouched, until the truth could be sorted out.
On July 12, I arrived early and sat at the kitchen table with a blue envelope.
Inside were copies of the hospital records, the disputed deed, the physician’s evaluation, and documents Margaret had gathered from the proposed transaction.
At 10:17 a.m., Celia’s SUV appeared on the driveway camera.
Peter sat beside her.
Two men arrived in another vehicle.
Both carried portfolios.
Celia climbed the porch steps and slipped her key into the lock.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
Then she noticed the camera above the door.
Her expression changed so suddenly that I almost didn’t recognize her.
I opened the door and stood behind the threshold.
‘Good morning, Celia.’
‘Walter? What have you done?’
‘Secured my home.’
‘This is illegal.
You can’t just change the locks.’
‘I suggest you discuss that with Margaret.’
As if she’d heard her name, Margaret stepped from the sedan pulling into the driveway.
Beside her was Detective Daniel Mercer from the county sheriff’s office, who had been assigned to follow up on my forgery complaint.
He hadn’t come to arrest anyone.
He’d agreed to meet the people associated with the contested transaction and request information relevant to his investigation.
Celia stared at him.
‘What’s going on?’
Margaret walked toward the porch.
‘Mrs.
Keene, the property transfer is formally disputed.
The brokerage and title company have been notified, and the scheduled showing cannot proceed as represented.’
One of the two men immediately opened his portfolio.
‘I’m representing a prospective purchaser,’ he said.
‘We were told the seller had clear title.’
‘You were told incorrectly,’ Margaret replied.
Celia turned on Peter.
‘Say something.’
Peter looked at me.
‘Dad, I thought you agreed to put the cottage into the company.’
‘I never did.’
Celia interrupted.
‘He’s been forgetful for months.
That’s why we needed to manage things.’
Margaret held out the medical evaluation.
‘Is this the document you relied upon?’
‘Yes.’
‘The physician named here retired three years ago.
His former practice has confirmed it did not prepare this evaluation.’
Celia’s lips parted.
She said nothing.
The detective spoke calmly.
‘Mrs.
Keene, I have some questions about how the documents were prepared and recorded.
You’re not required to answer them here.’
‘I want my attorney,’ she replied.
‘You may contact one.’
Then Margaret showed Peter a copy of the disputed deed.
Beneath the supposed signature of Walter Keene appeared another signature.
Peter Keene.
Witness.
Peter stared at it.
‘Dad, I didn’t know what that was.
Celia told me it was a temporary family property agreement.’
‘You signed without reading it?’
He looked ashamed.
‘Yes.’
That answer hurt more than the insult at the dock.
He hadn’t simply failed to defend me.
He’d allowed somebody to use his name on paperwork concerning everything his mother and I had built.
Margaret took another document from the envelope.
It was a proposed sale agreement showing a purchase
