On the screen, Colin and Glenda sat at my new kitchen island with a stack of papers between them. Glenda slid one page forward and tapped it with her pen. “Once she signs the quitclaim tonight,” she said, “her half of the house goes to me. Then you file on Monday.” Colin laughed. “She trusts me. She’ll sign anything if I tell her it’s routine.”
My knees nearly gave out. The down payment on that house had come from my late father’s life insurance. Every dollar. Ned Purcell, the previous owner, quietly paused the video. “There’s one more clip,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “From yesterday afternoon.” He pressed play again. This time, Glenda was alone in my bedroom, holding my mother’s engagement ring up to the light.
