Chapter 4 - The Paperwork of Freedom
The weeks following the confrontation on my porch were far from quiet.
Kevin and Lorraine did not surrender easily. When emotional blackmail failed, they turned to legal threats.
Two weeks after the Fourth of July, a formal letter arrived in my mailbox from a mid-level estate attorney in Sandy Springs. The letter was a rambling, pompous document claiming that Lorraine possessed an "equitable constructive trust" in the Lake Oconee property due to her family's historical usage and financial contributions toward its upkeep. It demanded an accounting of the sale proceeds and hinted at a lawsuit to freeze the six hundred and twenty thousand dollars currently sitting in my high-yield savings account.
I didn't panic. I didn't cry.
I picked up my purse, took my dark leather folder containing thirty-four years of tax returns, deeds, and bank statements, and drove straight to downtown Atlanta to meet with Arthur Vance.
Arthur had been Samuel’s personal attorney and best friend for thirty years. He was seventy-one years old, possessed hair as white as cotton, and had a mind like a steel trap wrapped in Southern hospitality.
I sat in his carpeted office on the twenty-second floor, looking out over the city skyline, while Arthur read the attorney's letter through his half-moon reading glasses.
When he finished, Arthur set the paper down on his desk, leaned back in his leather chair, and let out a long, slow whistle.
"Well, Dot," Arthur said, his eyes twinkling with cold amusement. "I’ve seen some ungrateful children in my forty years of practicing law, but your son-in-law Kevin certainly takes the blue ribbon."
"Does he have a case, Arthur?" I asked plainly.
"A case?" Arthur laughed softly, a dry, rasping sound. "Dot, Kevin has as much of a legal claim to that lake house as I have to the Taj Mahal. The deed was solely in your name. The original land purchase was funded entirely from your personal accounts. You paid the property taxes every year from your checking account. Did Kevin ever transfer money to you for taxes?"
"Never," I said. "He brought two cases of beer and a bag of charcoal every July."
"Generous man," Arthur drawled sarcastically. "What about improvements? Did he pay for the dock?"
"I have the cancelled checks right here," I said, pulling a neat tabbed binder from my bag. "Check number 4102 to Oconee Dock Builders for eighteen thousand dollars. Signed by Dorothy M. Hastings."
Arthur flipped through the binder, his eyebrows raising higher with every page. I had documented everything. Every receipt for cedar stain, every invoice for roof repairs, every property tax receipt from Putnam County going back six years.
"Dot," Arthur said, looking up at me with profound respect. "You're better organized than most of my corporate clients."
"When you work in a hospital for thirty-four years, Arthur," I replied, "if it isn't documented, it didn't happen. That's the first rule of nursing."
"God bless the nurses," Arthur chuckled. He picked up his fountain pen. "Here is what we are going to do. I am going to write a reply to this little lawyer in Sandy Springs. I am going to include copies of these cancelled checks, along with an itemized bill for six years of back rent, utility usage, and dock maintenance fees that Kevin and Lorraine owe you for their guest stays—totaling approximately forty-two thousand dollars."
I blinked. "Can we do that?"
"We can certainly present it as a counter-claim if they decide to file their ridiculous lawsuit," Arthur smiled wolfishly. "I will inform them that if they file a single motion in court, we will depose Kevin, his parents, his boss, and every guest he ever brought to that house under oath, and we will pursue full legal fees for frivolous litigation."
I felt a massive weight lift from my shoulders. "Thank you, Arthur."
"Now, Dot," Arthur said, his tone softening as he leaned across the desk. "Let's talk about your future. You have six hundred and twenty thousand dollars sitting in cash from that sale, plus your retirement accounts and Samuel’s pension. What do you want to do with your life?"
I looked out the window at the blue Georgia sky.
May you like
For six years, my entire existence had been anchored to a lake house that had become a prison of labor and disrespect. I had forgotten that the world was vast, beautiful, and waiting for me.
"Arthur," I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face. "I think I'd like to buy a passport."
