A longer silence.
“Mrs. Reynolds, I think you should speak with your husband.”
“I am speaking with you.”
“I’m
afraid I may have misunderstood—”
“What property?”
He exhaled.
“The lake property.”
My mind raced.
Lake property?
We didn’t own lake property.
Then I remembered.
My father.
The cabin.
Not Ruth’s.
The other one.
A wooded parcel three counties north my father had left to me when he died.
Forty-two acres with an abandoned hunting lodge.
Mark hated it.
Always had.
He called it worthless.
“What about it?” I asked.
“The transfer documents identify the property as collateral.”
“Collateral for what?”
The attorney stopped.
Then his voice became formal.
“I apologize, Mrs. Reynolds. I shouldn’t discuss this further without Mark present.”
I hung up.
My hands were shaking.
I called Daniel.
He answered immediately.
“Mom?”
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Your father is trying to use Grandpa’s land.”
