His expression changed.
“What?”
“Arthur transferred ownership to Clara several years ago, retaining the right to live here for the rest of his life.”
I remembered the appointment.
I had been nineteen, nervous about signing anything, while Grandpa made jokes about how many initials lawyers could fit on one page.
Nora had explained it.
I understood that he was giving me the house.
I hadn’t understood how soon someone would try to take it.
Dad looked at me.
“You knew?”
“I signed the papers.”
Mom’s lips parted.
“He gave it to a teenager?”
“He gave it to the person he wanted to have it,” Nora said.
“That wasn’t his decision to make without consulting me.”
“He was the owner.”
“I’m his son.”
Nora let the silence answer.
Dad stood so abruptly his chair struck the bookcase.
“Then we’ll challenge the transfer.”
“You can seek independent advice,” Nora said.
