Chapter 3 - The Deposit
The five-thousand-dollar deposit had not gone to a normal closing attorney.
It had gone to an account called Caldwell Residential Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
Neither had Patricia Oay, the real estate attorney I called the next morning.
She sat across from me with the offer contract open on one screen and the wire receipt on another.
“Your sister created the listing,” Patricia said. “But this account is the bigger problem.”
“Why?”
“Because someone built a company name around your property.”
I stared at the routing information.
“Can she do that?”
“She can type anything into a filing form. That doesn’t make it lawful.”
Patricia zoomed in on the contract.
There were my initials on every page.
Only I had not written them.
She asked whether Dileia had ever handled my paperwork.
“No.”
“Ever been inside your apartment?”
“Years ago.”
“Know where you keep copies of your signature?”
I thought about tax forms, birthday cards, the graduation check I had written to my cousin.
Too many possibilities.
Patricia leaned back.
“I can send preservation letters to the brokerage, listing platform, and bank. I can also record an affidavit making clear that no sale authority exists.”
“Do it.”
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
I ignored it.
Then Dad called.
I answered.
“Renata, your sister is crying.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“She says this can be handled privately.”
“Dad, strangers were inside my house.”
“She says she was trying to make money for both of you.”
I shut my eyes.
“Ask her where the five thousand dollars went.”
Silence.
“What five thousand?”
I told him.
His breathing changed.
Then Patricia’s assistant knocked and handed her a printout.
Patricia read it once.
Then again.
“What?” I asked.
She slid the page toward me.
Caldwell Residential Holdings had been registered six weeks earlier.
May you like
The organizer was Dileia.
But the mailing address belonged to my parents.
