Chapter 4: The Man Who Bought My Father's Building
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I sat at Grandma's kitchen table, staring at the telephone as if the voice coming through it belonged to someone standing in another room.
Mark Collins.
My stepfather.
The man who had lived under the same roof as me for three years. The man who had watched me work weekends at the bakery. The man who had once told me that my father would have wanted me to be grateful for everything my mother provided.
He was trying to buy the building my father had left me.
And my mother was helping him.
"Thomas," Grandma finally said, "tell me exactly what you found.""
The attorney cleared his throat.
"Three weeks ago, an application was filed with the county property office. It included a purported authorization from Isabella, along with documents claiming Linda had the authority to act on her behalf.""
"But Isabella never signed anything," Grandma replied.
"I understand. The signature appears suspicious. We have requested the original filing.""
"Can the sale be stopped?""
"The property is held in a trust. Linda cannot legally sell it without authorization from the trustee. I've already submitted a formal objection.""
Grandma gripped the edge of the table.
"Then why did someone accept a deposit?""
"Because the buyer appears to have relied on the paperwork Linda supplied.""
I leaned toward the phone.
"Can Mark get the building?""
"No, Isabella. Not without resolving the trust's legal restrictions.""
"Then why would he pay two hundred thousand dollars?""
Thomas paused.
"That's exactly what concerns me.""
Grandma asked the question I was afraid to hear.
"Who received the deposit?""
"I haven't confirmed that yet. But I intend to find out.""
The call ended with Thomas promising to send us copies of the filing.
I sat motionless.
Grandma came around the table and placed a glass of water in front of me.
"Drink, sweetheart.""
I didn't touch it.
"Abuela, why would Mark do this?""
She pulled out a chair.
"I don't know.""
"He knew Dad.""
"Yes.""
"He came to Dad's funeral.""
"Yes.""
"He told me he would always look after me.""
Grandma lowered her eyes.
"People sometimes say things they never intend to honor.""
I looked at the family photograph on the refrigerator. It showed my mother, Mark, Brianna, and me standing in front of the Christmas tree.
I was wearing a sweater my father had bought me years earlier.
In the picture, everyone was smiling.
I wondered how many secrets had existed behind those smiles.
At 10:16 p.m., my phone vibrated.
It was a message from Brianna.
You better stop dragging Mom into this.
Another message arrived.
You have no idea what she sacrificed for us.
Then a photograph.
It showed my ruined blue quinceañera dress lying on the bedroom floor.
Brianna had added a caption.
Still looks better this way.
My fingers trembled.
Grandma noticed my expression.
"What is it?""
I showed her the phone.
She read the messages and slowly shook her head.
"Don't answer her.""
"Why does she hate me so much?""
Grandma took my phone gently.
"Because sometimes people are afraid of losing something they've been allowed to take for too long.""
I didn't understand what she meant until the following morning.
At 8:30, Thomas called again.
He had received a copy of the property filing.
Grandma put him on speaker.
"I have the document in front of me," he said.
"There's something you need to see.""
"What?""
"Linda submitted a notarized statement claiming Isabella had signed a voluntary authorization.""
Grandma frowned.
"Who notarized it?""
Thomas read the name.
"Patricia Collins.""
Grandma went silent.
I looked at her.
"Who is Patricia?""
Thomas answered.
"Mark's sister.""
My stomach tightened.
"So his family is involved?""
"At least one member of it appears on the paperwork.""
Grandma stood and began pacing.
"That is outrageous.""
Thomas continued.
"There's something else. The property was appraised last month.""
"Why?"" Grandma asked.
"To establish its market value before the proposed transfer.""
"How much?""
"Six hundred and twenty thousand dollars.""
I stared at the table.
Six hundred and twenty thousand.
"Then why did Mark pay only two hundred thousand?""
Thomas exhaled.
"That is another issue we need to investigate.""
Grandma shook her head.
"He's trying to take it for less than half its value.""
"That's how it appears.""
I felt my stomach twist.
My father had worked for years to build something valuable.
Now the people who had entered our lives after his death were trying to take it.
"Mr. Whitaker?""
"Yes, Isabella?""
"Can you tell Mark he can't do this?""
"I can send him formal notice. But I also want you to avoid confronting him until we've secured the records.""
I nodded even though he couldn't see me.
That afternoon, Grandma drove me home to collect my school clothes and a few belongings.
I didn't want to go.
But my textbooks, notebooks, and father's photograph were still there.
When we arrived, Mark's truck was parked in the driveway.
My mother opened the door before we knocked.
"Why are you here?""
"Isabella needs her things," Grandma replied.
Linda stepped aside reluctantly.
"Five minutes.""
Inside, the living room looked exactly as it had on the night of my quinceañera. The silver decorations were still hanging from the ceiling, but the white roses had begun to wilt.
My ruined dress was gone.
I stopped.
"Where is it?""
My mother followed my gaze.
"I threw it away.""
My heart dropped.
"You what?""
"It was covered in paint. It was garbage.""
I felt tears sting my eyes.
"You had no right.""
Linda sighed.
"Isabella, please don't start.""
Grandma turned toward her.
"You threw away something she bought with her own money?""
"It was ruined!""
"She could have kept it.""
My mother folded her arms.
"Are we really going to argue over a dress?""
I wanted to tell her that it wasn't just a dress.
It was eleven months of work.
It was my father's promise.
It was the one thing I had given myself after years of believing we had nothing.
But I swallowed the words.
I went upstairs and filled a backpack with clothes, schoolbooks, and my father's photograph.
As I was leaving my bedroom, I heard voices from the hallway.
Mark was speaking to my mother.
"Did you tell her about the paperwork?""
"No.""
"Good. Keep it that way.""
I stopped.
My mother lowered her voice.
"Thomas has already contacted me.""
Mark cursed.
"Then we need to move faster.""
"How? The filing is being challenged.""
"Get the original documents.""
"I told you, Patricia has them.""
"Then call her!""
I held my breath.
My mother sounded frightened.
"Mark, this is getting out of control.""
He answered sharply.
"It was under control until your mother-in-law decided to play detective.""
I stepped backward.
A floorboard creaked.
The conversation stopped.
"Who's there?"" Mark called.
I hurried downstairs.
He was standing near the kitchen, holding a folder.
My mother stood beside him.
"What were you doing upstairs?"" he asked.
"Getting my things.""
Mark looked at my backpack.
"You're staying with Evelyn?""
"Yes.""
He gave a short laugh.
"Very mature.""
I stared at him.
"Did you try to buy my father's building?""
His smile disappeared.
"Who told you that?""
"Thomas.""
Mark glanced at my mother.
She looked furious.
"That attorney is putting ideas in your head," he said.
"Did you pay two hundred thousand dollars?""
"That's business.""
"It's my property.""
"Not according to the paperwork.""
Grandma stepped forward.
"Be careful, Mark.""
He turned toward her.
"With all due respect, Evelyn, you should stop interfering.""
"Daniel trusted me to protect his daughter.""
Mark laughed.
"Daniel trusted a lot of people. Look where that got him.""
The words hung in the air.
My grandmother went completely still.
I stepped between them.
"Don't talk about my father.""
Mark looked down at me.
"You're a child. You don't understand how the world works.""
"Then why are you trying to take something that belongs to a child?""
His jaw tightened.
My mother grabbed my arm.
"Enough, Isabella!""
I pulled away.
"No. I'm done being quiet.""
Mark moved toward the front door.
"Fine. Go live with your grandmother. But don't expect me to keep paying for everything.""
I looked at him.
"I never asked you to pay for my dress.""
He shook his head.
"Ungrateful, just like your father.""
Grandma's hand tightened around mine.
We walked out without another word.
But as I reached the driveway, I noticed something in Mark's truck.
A large cardboard folder was sitting on the passenger seat.
Through the partially open flap, I could see a document bearing my father's name.
And beneath it was a photograph of the commercial building.
I stopped.
"Abuela.""
She turned.
"What is it?""
I pointed.
"That's Dad's building.""
Grandma looked toward the truck.
Then she noticed the red stamp on the top document.
<text weight="bold" color="danger" inline>PROPERTY TRANSFER — ORIGINAL DEED</text>
She grabbed my hand.
"Get in the car, Isabella.""
As we drove away, I looked back at the truck.
Mark was standing in the driveway, watching us.
May you like
He wasn't smiling anymore.
And I had the terrible feeling that we had just discovered something much worse than an attempted sale.
