I waited until the next morning before calling my attorney again.
I wanted to speak with him personally.
There were too many unanswered questions, and I didn't want another message passed through an assistant.
His name was Richard.
He had handled Nile's estate after his death and had helped us with property matters for years.
He knew the history of the beach house.
He also knew how much it meant to me.
When he finally answered, I could hear papers moving in the background.
"Eleanor, I received your message. Is everything all right?"
"No, Richard. I need to discuss something important."
His voice changed.
"Tell me what's happened."
I explained the wedding.
I explained the suitcases.
I told him about Cullen's assumption that he could move into the beach house.
Then I mentioned the conversation with Miles.
Richard didn't interrupt.
He listened until I finished.
Finally, I told him about the cream-colored envelope.
"I believe someone opened it."
There was a pause.
"Are you certain?"
I looked toward the drawer where I had placed it.
"Someone used clear tape to close the flap. I didn't do that."
"Have you opened the envelope since noticing it?"
"No."
"Good. Please leave it as it is until we speak."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Richard, what exactly did you prepare for me?"
He took a breath.
"The document we discussed earlier this year."
"I remember that."
"It concerns your intentions for the property and the arrangements you wanted to make for Cullen. But I want to be very clear about something. Nothing becomes effective simply because a document has been prepared."
I sat down.
"So Cullen doesn't own the house?"
"Not based on anything I prepared for you."
I closed my eyes.
I already suspected the answer.
Hearing it from Richard made it real.
He continued.
"Did Cullen tell someone he had received a deed?"
"Miles says he told him the paperwork was completed in June."
Richard became quiet.
"June?"
"Yes."
"That's interesting."
I didn't like the way he said that.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we need to review the timeline carefully. I prepared your documents according to your instructions. I did not authorize anyone to sign on your behalf."
I stared at the telephone.
"Could someone have made a copy?"
"Possibly. But I don't want to speculate."
He asked me to bring the envelope to his office.
I agreed.
Before ending the call, he asked one more question.
"Eleanor, does anyone besides you have access to your house?"
I thought about the beach property.
The new locks.
The moving boxes.
Blythe's bathrobe.
Then I remembered the months before the wedding.
Cullen had visited several times.
Sometimes he came alone.
Sometimes Blythe came with him.
They had asked about measurements.
They had looked through the bedrooms.
They had even taken photographs of the living room.
At the time, I thought they were simply interested in the renovations.
Now those visits seemed different.
"They've both been inside," I said.
"Recently?"
"Several times."
Richard was quiet.
"All right. Let's discuss this in person."
After the call, I went to the hallway.
I removed the cream-colored envelope from the drawer.
I placed it inside a larger folder.
Then I checked the other documents.
My property insurance.
The original purchase paperwork.
The most recent tax statement.
Everything appeared to be where I had left it.
Except one thing.
The small wooden box where I kept Nile's handwritten note was slightly open.
I was certain I had closed it.
I lifted the lid.
The note was still there.
I unfolded it carefully.
Nile's handwriting was uneven in places.
His fingers had been hurting when he wrote it.
But every word was clear.
I read the first few lines.
Then I stopped.
I didn't want to read the entire thing again.
Not yet.
I placed the note back in the box.
For a moment, I remembered Nile sitting on the porch during that last summer.
He had been watching Cullen work on a broken section of railing.
Our son had been twenty-six.
He had been impatient and convinced he knew how to fix everything.
Nile had laughed when the first board came loose.
He had told Cullen that doing something properly sometimes took longer than doing it quickly.
Cullen had rolled his eyes.
I remembered the two of them arguing.
Then I remembered how they had ended the afternoon.
Sitting together.
Sharing a cold drink.
That was the relationship I had wanted to preserve.
Not the version I was dealing with now.
Later that afternoon, I drove to Richard's office.
He examined the envelope carefully.
He looked at the tape.
He checked the edges.
Then he asked me to explain exactly where I had kept it.
I told him.
He listened without making assumptions.
Finally, he placed it on his desk.
"Did you tell Cullen you had prepared this document?"
"No."
"Did you tell Blythe?"
"No."
"Anyone else?"
I thought for a moment.
"Not that I remember."
Richard nodded.
He explained that the document had been prepared to reflect my intentions concerning the beach house.
It had never been signed as a completed transfer.
It had not been recorded as a change in ownership.
And I had not authorized anyone to treat it as a deed.
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
"So the house is still mine."
"Yes. Based on the records we have reviewed, you remain the owner."
I looked at him.
"Then why would Cullen tell Miles otherwise?"
Richard didn't pretend to know.
"That is something you need to ask him."
I stared at the envelope.
I wasn't ready to ask.
Not until I understood how much he knew.
Richard suggested that I keep all important documents secured.
He also advised me not to hand over keys or sign anything under pressure.
I thanked him.
Then I placed the envelope back inside my bag.
On the drive home, I stopped at a grocery store.
I bought bread, milk, and a small container of strawberries.
Ordinary things.
I wanted an ordinary afternoon.
But when I reached my driveway, I noticed a car parked across the street.
I recognized it.
It belonged to a woman who lived near the beach house.
She was speaking with someone beside the passenger door.
When she saw me, she waved.
I waved back.
Then I carried my groceries inside.
I had barely put the milk away when my phone rang.
It was Cullen.
"Mom, we need to settle this."
I leaned against the counter.
"What do you want to settle?"
"The house situation."
I said nothing.
He continued.
"Blythe is upset. Her parents are upset. Everyone is asking questions."
I looked at the strawberries.
"That's unfortunate."
"Can you stop talking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like none of this matters."
I almost smiled.
It mattered more than he knew.
"Cullen, I have spoken with my attorney."
There was silence.
Then his voice became sharper.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to understand the legal paperwork."
He exhaled.
"Mom, this is ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Yes. You know the house is supposed to be mine."
I closed my eyes.
"Who told you that?"
He didn't answer.
I asked again.
"Who told you the house was yours?"
He finally said:
"We've talked about it for years."
"Talking about something is not the same as signing it over."
He became quiet.
Then he said:
"I know what I saw."
I felt a chill move through me.
"What did you see?"
He ended the call.
I stood in the kitchen holding my phone.
The conversation had lasted less than three minutes.
But it had given me something important.
Cullen wasn't simply assuming the house would be his.
He believed he had evidence.
And somewhere, somehow, he had seen a document that made him confident enough to promise my property to other people.
I looked at the cream-colored envelope inside my handbag.
Then I thought about June.
The month Miles had mentioned.
I had prepared the document earlier that year.
I had never signed a deed transferring ownership.
But someone had apparently told my son that a transfer had happened.
I couldn't ignore that anymore.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The More I Thought About Cullen’s Visits, the More I Realized Someone Had Been Preparing My House for a Life I Never Agreed To
My Only Son Called to Announce His Wedding, but One Casual Sentence Made Me Realize I Was No Longer Welcome in His Life
Part 5 of 20
