Chapter 5 - The True Value of Grandma's House
By Friday afternoon, the reality of the situation had begun to settle over Elmhurst Lane like a thick fog.
My attorney, Sarah Vance, had engaged a certified independent appraiser. Under property law, as a co-owner, I had full legal authority to grant access to the exterior and common grounds, and the court could compel interior access if they refused. To avoid a sheriff escorting an appraiser through her front hall, my mother grudgingly agreed to the inspection.
The Victorian sat on three sprawling acres in Elmhurst, a neighborhood that had transformed over the last fifteen years from a quiet rural fringe into the most desirable school district and luxury enclave in the county. Developers had been buying up old farmhouses and turning them into million-dollar subdivisions.
When Sarah emailed me the appraisal report, Marcus and I sat together at the kitchen island, staring at the bottom line.
The property was appraised at $1,350,000.
"Good God," Marcus muttered, tracing the figure. "One point three five million."
"My one-third share," I murmured, "is four hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Sarah called me ten minutes later. "Claire, have you seen the numbers?"
"I'm looking at them right now."
"Your mother and brother received their copies an hour ago," Sarah said, a hint of professional satisfaction in her tone. "I just got off the phone with an attorney representing your mother. They are in absolute panic. They assumed the house was worth maybe four or five hundred thousand. They thought they could scrounge up fifty grand and buy you out with pocket change."
"Can they afford four hundred and fifty thousand?" I asked.
"Not a chance," Sarah replied smoothly. "Your mother lives on a modest pension and your father's social security. And from what my colleague gathered about Andrew... he's up to his neck in debt. If they can't buy you out in sixty days, the court will order the house sold on the open market."
May you like
I looked out the window at the garden. For thirty years, my mother had treated that house like her personal monument, holding court and bestowing favors while erasing my child from the family tree.
Now, her monument had a price tag she couldn't afford.
