Chapter 1 - THE DEED IN MASON’S JACKET
The officer held the document by the edges.
“Mr. Bradley?”
I stepped closer.
“Yes?”
“Is this your property deed?”
I looked at the first page.
My name.
Connor Bradley.
Amy Bradley.
Our Nashville address.
The original deed.
Not a copy.
I had kept it in a fireproof safe upstairs.
A safe only Amy and I were supposed to know the combination to.
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why was your cousin carrying it out of the house?”
I looked at Mason.
He had gone pale.
“I wasn’t stealing anything.”
The officer said:
“I didn’t ask whether you were stealing.”
Mason swallowed.
“Aunt Teresa gave it to me.”
My mother, still beside another officer, exploded.
“He’s lying!”
Mason turned toward her.
“You told me to take the folder!”
“Shut your mouth!”
The officer holding Teresa’s arm immediately told her to stop interfering.
I barely heard him.
Because the folder contained more than the deed.
There were photocopies of my driver’s license.
Amy’s driver’s license.
Our mortgage statement.
Property-tax records.
My construction company pay stubs.
Bank statements.
And a document I had never seen before.
At the top:
QUITCLAIM DEED - DRAFT
Grantors:
Connor Bradley.
Amy Bradley.
Grantee:
Bradley Family Property Trust.
Trustee:
Teresa Bradley.
I stopped breathing.
“What is that?”
Mason looked down.
Nobody answered.
The officer said:
“This needs to be preserved.”
I nodded.
Then Amy called from the ambulance.
Frederick’s fever was over 104.
Everything else disappeared.
I left the house without waiting to hear another word.
Because property could wait.
May you like
My son couldn’t.
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