Chapter 7 - The Final Deadline
On December 14, I flew back to Seattle.
The emerald evergreen trees of Washington were draped in cold, misty drizzle, the gray sky a familiar comfort after two weeks of tropical heat.
I took an Uber directly to Alden Legal's downtown offices, walking into Marcy’s conference room at 10:00 AM.
On the long glass table sat a thick folder of real estate documents, accompanied by three keys attached to a brass ring.
"They signed the voluntary surrender deed yesterday afternoon," Marcy said, handing me a steaming ceramic mug of dark roast coffee.
I looked at the brass keys.
"They didn't raise the funds?"
"Not even close," Marcy said with a dry chuckle. "Richard tried to offer twenty thousand dollars in cash that he borrowed from his brother in Spokane, provided you forgave the remaining six hundred and sixty thousand and signed a general release."
"And you told him?"
"I told him that twenty thousand dollars wouldn't even cover the interest accrued during the litigation," Marcy replied. "They realized that if they fought this in court, the county prosecutor was going to take a very close look at the fraudulent quitclaim notarization. Richard’s lawyer advised him to surrender possession before criminal charges were filed."
"Where are they going?"
"They leased a two-bedroom garden apartment in Renton," Marcy said. "Lena is staying with a former college friend in Tacoma who apparently hasn't read the news yet."
I picked up the brass keys, feeling their cold, heavy metal against the palm of my hand.
Six months ago, I had handed over my life savings believing I was rescuing my family's ancestral sanctuary.
I had thought that saving their home was an act of sacred duty, a daughter’s proof of devotion.
Now, holding the keys to the empty house, I realized that a home is not built out of timber, granite countertops, or brass hardware. It is built out of mutual honor, honesty, and shared sacrifice.
Without those things, four thousand square feet in Bellevue is nothing more than an expensive mausoleum for broken pride.
"What do you want to do with the property, Emma?" Marcy asked gently. "The luxury market is strong right now. We could list it next week and probably clear nine hundred thousand after fees."
May you like
I looked out the conference room window toward the foggy peaks of the Cascade Mountains.
"List it," I said without a single second of hesitation. "Sell every square foot."
