It was a nervous, hollow laugh.
“That’s an old document,” Madison insisted. “Jake and I bought this house two years ago. We went through closing and signed everything.”
My attorney, Elena Brooks, calmly withdrew another certified record from her blue folder.
“You participated in a transaction presented to you as a property closing,” she explained. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you received valid legal ownership.”
My father jumped to his feet so abruptly that his chair toppled backward.
“This is ridiculous!” he snapped. “You’re turning an ordinary family disagreement into some complicated legal battle.”
Elena didn’t raise her voice.
“I represent Natalie. My responsibility is to protect her property rights and explain why she cannot simply be removed from a house she legally controls.”
The police officer Madison had called stepped farther into the dining room.
He’d arrived expecting a straightforward complaint about an unwanted guest.
