Chapter 7 - What Sloan Expected
Rachel obtained a copy of the consultation request the next day.
Sloan had contacted the estate firm six weeks earlier.
The subject line made me physically sick.
QUESTION ABOUT ELDERLY HOMEOWNER CAPACITY AND BENEFICIARY RIGHTS.
"She called me elderly," I said.
Rachel gave me a look. "Focus on the second part."
The email asked whether an adult child who expected to inherit a parent's home could take steps to protect the property if the parent was "becoming emotionally unstable and financially impulsive."
I read that line three times.
Financially impulsive.
I had worked as a school district accountant for twenty-seven years.
Sloan had $61,000 in credit card debt and a scorched designer purse.
Rachel continued.
"The firm declined to advise her without more information. But this tells us what she was thinking."
"She wanted Harrison to take control of my house."
"At minimum, she was exploring it."
When I got home, Sloan was in the kitchen using my good cutting board.
I placed the printed email beside her knife.
She looked at it.
Then at me.
"You've been going through my private communications?"
I laughed.
"You researched taking control of my home."
"I was protecting Harrison."
"From me?"
"From your moods."
There it was.
The new story.
Not that I was selfish.
Not that I was childish.
That I was unstable.
Sloan lowered her voice. "Look at what you did to my purse."
I understood then why the burned Gucci bag mattered so much to her.
It was useful.
A dramatic story.
A sixty-five-year-old widow destroying property in a fit of rage.
"You pushed my cake first," I said.
"Prove it."
My stomach tightened.
She smiled.
Then a voice behind us said, "I can."
Brenda stood in the doorway holding her phone.
"I recorded the candles," she said.
Sloan's face changed.
May you like
Brenda tapped the screen.
"And I got your elbow too."
