Chapter 4: The Other Document
Daniel arrived twenty-two minutes later.
He knocked, which he had never done before.
I noticed that.
The officers were still in the room, finishing their report, and Harper was sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed on the floor.
I opened the door.
My son was fifty-one years old, broad-shouldered, and for most of his life had worn the easy expression of a man who had never been told no by anyone who mattered.
That expression was not on his face now.
"Mom," he said.
"Can we talk privately?"
"Whatever you need to say, you can say here."
He glanced at the officers.
Then at Harper.
Then back at me.
"Fine," he said.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"I should have told you about the access passes.
That was wrong.
I'm sorry."
"Which part are you sorry about?" I asked.
"Creating them without asking, or getting caught?"
Harper looked up.
"That's not fair," Daniel said.
"Your father's toiletries are on top of his suitcase," I said.
"Your wife's parents have been using my bedroom for two days.
My door code was changed without my knowledge.
Tell me what part of that is fair."
He sat down on the arm of the sofa.
"Harper's parents needed somewhere to stay.
They've had a rough year.
I thought—"
"You thought I wouldn't notice," I said.
"Or you thought I would notice and say nothing, the way I always have."
The room was quiet.
"Daniel," I said, "why did you change the door code?"
"I wanted them to be able to come and go without bothering you for a key."
"I was in another state," I said.
"I wasn't here to bother.
So that isn't the reason."
He looked at the floor.
One of the officers set his clipboard on the kitchen counter.
"Ms.
Parker, we're done with the report.
I want to mention — when we ran the unit number through our system this morning, there was a flag on the file."
I turned toward him.
"What kind of flag?"
"A title inquiry," he said.
"Filed about six weeks ago.
Someone requested documentation on the ownership record for this unit." He looked at Daniel briefly, then back at me.
"You may want to speak with your property attorney."
The air in the room changed.
Harper's head came up slowly.
"A title inquiry," I repeated.
"On my condo."
"Yes, ma'am."
I looked at Daniel.
His jaw was tight.
He didn't look at me.
He looked at a fixed point on the wall just past my left shoulder, the way he used to do when he was twelve years old and had broken something and hadn't yet decided whether to confess.
"Daniel," I said quietly.
"What did you do?"
"It was just an inquiry," he said.
"I was looking into some things.
It doesn't mean anything."
"An inquiry into the ownership of my property," I said.
"Filed six weeks ago.
Without telling me."
"Mom—"
"Was it a title inquiry, or was it the first step toward something else?"
He stood up from the sofa.
"You're making this into something it isn't."
"Then tell me what it is."
He didn't answer.
Harper was very still at the kitchen table.
For the first time since I'd known her, she looked like she was hearing something she hadn't been told.
"Did you know about this?" I asked her.
She shook her head slowly.
"He said the condo would eventually come to us anyway.
I thought he meant — I thought it was just something he said."
"Harper," Daniel said sharply.
"Don't," I said to him.
Then, to Harper: "What exactly did he say?"
She looked at her husband.
Then at me.
"He said once you got older and didn't want to manage it anymore, it would make sense for us to take over.
He said he was just getting things in order."
I picked up my phone.
I had my attorney's number saved under her first name.
May you like
I had not called it in over a year.
I called it now.
