PART 7 — The evidence on the table
“I know exactly enough, Mark,” I said, stepping resolutely across the threshold and into the hallway, right past him, as if I were still the mistress of the house. Mark made no attempt to stop me; his body had turned to stone from sheer fright.
Sarah started screaming. “Mark! Are you just letting her in? Throw her out! This is our property! We have the keys!”
“The keys you received based on a false representation of facts,” I replied calmly, as I walked on to the living room and sat down in the chair I had occupied for thirty years. I looked around. The familiar furniture was still there, but the atmosphere was poisoned by their selfishness. “Notary Van Houten showed me the original deeds this afternoon. Did you know Dad had a clause included that in the event of forced eviction, the full ownership right reverts to an independent foundation?”
Mark stumbled into the living room, his hands visibly shaking. “No... no, that's not possible. Dad never did that. The house was left to me, that was in the draft!”
“The draft, yes,” I said sharply. “The draft you got to see before you thought you could dump your mother like old trash. But the final deed, signed on your father's deathbed, contained the real condition. The moment you evicted me without medical necessity or of your own free will, the house would be frozen for fifty years in a management foundation. You are now illegally breaking into a property under trusteeship.”
Sarah put her hand over her mouth and looked at Mark furiously. “Mark! What on earth have you done? Did you put us at risk with a house we have no right to? You said everything was watertight!”
Mark looked from Sarah to me, and for the first time I saw the panic of a grown man trapped by his own greed.
