Garrett pulled out a chair.
He sat down slowly.
Tiffany remained standing.
The certified property records were spread across the table.
My attorney turned another page.
Garrett looked at the documents.
Then he looked at me.
"Are you saying I have no rights here?"
I took a breath.
"I'm saying you don't own this property."
"But I'm your only son."
I nodded.
"I know."
"Doesn't that count for something?"
I looked at him.
"It counted when I was working forty-five years to raise you."
He lowered his eyes.
I continued.
"It counted when your mother and I were planning our retirement."
He didn't interrupt.
"It counted when I sold our home and gave you the money."
Tiffany shifted beside him.
I could tell she wanted to speak.
But I wasn't finished.
"It counted when I moved into your basement because I believed you wanted me there."
Garrett stared at the table.
I remembered the cold concrete.
The hanging bulb.
The stained mattress.
I remembered the heavy door.
"You remember that dinner party?" I asked.
He looked up briefly.
"What dinner party?"
"The one where you locked me downstairs because you didn't want your business associates to know I lived in your house."
His face tightened.
"That was a long time ago."
"It was."
I looked at him.
"But I remember it."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Things were difficult back then."
"They were difficult for me, too."
Nobody spoke.
My attorney quietly arranged the papers.
I appreciated that she didn't interrupt.
She had come to explain the legal position.
But some things needed to be said between a father and his son.
Garrett finally looked toward the paperwork he had brought.
"What about these documents?"
My attorney turned toward him.
"They should not be signed without a full legal review."
He pointed toward the yellow tabs.
"They're just healthcare documents."
She looked at the first page.
"I would not characterize a packet without reviewing every provision."
Garrett shifted in his chair.
"I was trying to help my father."
I looked at him.
"Then why didn't you tell me what everything meant?"
He didn't answer.
My attorney asked whether she could examine the packet.
I handed it to her.
She began looking through the pages.
She paid particular attention to the marked sections.
I watched Garrett.
His fingers were moving against the table.
Tiffany was looking toward the window again.
The moving van remained outside.
The trailer was still loaded with their belongings.
They had brought their entire situation to my property.
They had expected to unpack.
Instead, they were sitting in my kitchen while an attorney examined documents they had wanted me to sign.
My attorney finished looking through the first section.
She placed the packet beside the certified records.
"I recommend that Harrison sign nothing today."
Garrett looked annoyed.
"Why?"
"Because he needs independent advice about the documents and their consequences."
Garrett leaned back.
"He's perfectly capable of understanding what I'm asking."
I looked at him.
"Then you shouldn't have a problem waiting."
He went quiet.
Tiffany finally spoke.
"We didn't come here to fight."
I looked toward her.
"Then why did you try to open my locked rooms?"
She blinked.
"I wasn't doing anything."
"I saw you with the nail file."
She looked at Garrett.
He looked back at her.
Neither said anything.
My attorney turned slightly.
"Was there an attempt to access a locked area?"
I nodded.
"Yesterday."
She wrote something down.
I didn't need to add anything.
The mark near the lock was still there.
I had also preserved the workshop footage.
I wanted everything handled properly.
Garrett stood up.
"This is getting out of control."
I remained seated.
"No. It's getting clear."
He looked at me.
For a moment, I saw the anger I remembered from the driveway eleven years earlier.
But this time, I wasn't a tired man standing beside a basement door with a bag of clothes.
I had my own home.
I had my own attorney.
And I wasn't going to surrender my decisions because Garrett had decided to demand them.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: The Moving Van Was Still Waiting Outside, but My Son Was Beginning to Understand That My Mountain Estate Was Not His Escape
My Son Had Not Spoken to Me in Eleven Years, Yet He Arrived at My Mountain Home Acting as Though He Already Owned It
Part 15 of 20
