Garrett walked toward the window.
He looked outside at the moving van.
Then he turned back toward me.
"What are we supposed to do now?"
I looked at him.
"That's something you and Tiffany need to decide."
He shook his head.
"We sold everything."
"I know."
"We came all this way."
"I know that, too."
He pointed toward the property records.
"So you're just going to leave us with nothing?"
I didn't answer immediately.
I thought about the forty-five acres.
The first camper.
The winters when the heater barely worked.
The ranch owners who had trusted me with their old houses.
The years of work that had gone into building the lodge.
None of it had happened because someone handed me an opportunity.
I had built it one job at a time.
"I didn't ask you to sell your belongings," I said.
Garrett looked frustrated.
"We thought we could start over here."
I glanced toward the bunkhouse.
"You have a place to stay until the time I gave you expires."
"Forty-eight hours isn't enough."
"That was the agreement."
Tiffany approached the table.
"Harrison, surely we can work something out."
I looked at her.
"What exactly do you want?"
She hesitated.
Garrett answered.
"We need somewhere permanent."
I nodded.
"Then you need to arrange somewhere permanent."
He shook his head.
"You have all this land. What's the point of owning so much if you won't share it with your family?"
I looked through the windows.
The mountains were visible beyond the trees.
The land was quiet.
I had spent years making this place peaceful.
I didn't want to turn it into another house where I had to watch my words and defend my belongings.
"I didn't build this place to have someone else decide what happens here."
Garrett lowered his voice.
"I'm still your son."
I looked at him.
"Yes. You are."
I didn't say anything more.
My attorney closed the blue folder.
She asked me to step aside with her for a moment.
We walked toward the hallway.
She spoke quietly.
"Do you have the original camera footage saved?"
"Yes."
"Good. Keep it secure."
I nodded.
She reminded me that the legal documents Garrett had brought should be reviewed separately.
She also wanted copies of the certified property records maintained with my other estate documents.
I agreed.
I didn't want to rush anything.
I wanted every decision properly recorded.
When we returned to the kitchen, Garrett was holding his phone.
He seemed to be checking messages.
The screen lit up.
He turned it away quickly.
I remembered the earlier call from the financial recovery department.
Then I remembered the pink foreclosure notice.
Their financial problems were still there.
Nothing about the mountain house changed that.
Tiffany approached him.
She whispered something.
He shook his head.
They looked tired.
Not simply from the drive.
There was a different kind of strain between them.
I had noticed it when they first arrived.
The missing ring.
The damaged furniture.
The expired temporary tag.
The hurried way they had unloaded their belongings.
I didn't know every detail of their financial situation.
I wasn't going to pretend I did.
But I understood that they were desperate.
And desperation could make people do things they would otherwise avoid.
Garrett put his phone away.
"Dad, can we at least stay longer while we figure things out?"
I considered the question.
Then I answered.
"No."
His face hardened.
"You're really going to do this?"
"I already gave you forty-eight hours."
He looked toward Tiffany.
She lowered her eyes.
I walked to the kitchen counter and picked up the apple pie she had brought.
It was still sitting where she had left it.
I placed it in the refrigerator.
I wasn't trying to make a point.
I simply didn't want it to go to waste.
Then I returned to the table.
The gold pen was still lying beside Garrett's paperwork.
I picked it up.
He watched me.
For a moment, I thought he expected me to reconsider.
Instead, I placed the pen on top of his unsigned packet.
"Take your documents with you."
He didn't move.
I continued.
"And take your belongings when you leave."
Tiffany looked toward the window.
The moving van was still there.
Garrett stared at me.
The man who had once told me to find my own place was now standing inside the home I had built after leaving him.
He had arrived believing the hardest part would be convincing me to accept him.
He was beginning to understand that I had already made my decisions.
My attorney gathered the certified records and returned them to the blue folder.
I walked her toward the front door.
Before leaving, she turned to me.
"Call me if anything changes."
"I will."
She stepped onto the porch.
Her silver SUV remained parked near the other vehicles.
I watched her leave.
Then I returned inside.
Garrett and Tiffany were still in the kitchen.
Neither had touched the coffee.
Neither had touched the paperwork.
I looked at the clock.
The forty-eight hours had not yet passed.
But I knew something important had changed.
For the first time since they arrived, Garrett was no longer talking as though the estate belonged to him.
He was looking at the documents.
And he was finally beginning to understand that my home was not something he could claim simply because he had decided he needed it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: My Son Finally Asked What the Property Documents Meant, but the Answer Was Far Different From the Inheritance He Had Imagined
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 16 of 20
