Chapter 4 - The House He Claimed to Own
Rebecca called Bitterroot Capital's counsel the same afternoon.
She made no accusations, only requested preservation of communications mentioning my property.
Within two days, we learned Harry had used the house address in documents connected to a private business loan.
The lender's counsel wouldn't divulge every detail, but the basic problem was plain.
Harry had represented that he could arrange a security interest in the home.
He could not.
I spent the evening staring at Martha's photograph.
“Tell me what you would do,” I whispered.
The photo, as always, refused to offer an easy answer.
Frank came into the room carrying the mail.
One envelope was from our insurance company.
It contained notice of a requested change to the property's mailing address.
I hadn't made that request.
The proposed new address was a commercial mailbox rented in Harry's name.
Rebecca helped us report that issue too.
By the next morning, we had a growing list: a loan inquiry, a signature that wasn't mine, a proposed appraisal, a mailing-address change, and a lender who had been told a story about collateral.
Each item was troubling.
Together, they formed a picture I wished I couldn't see.
I asked Rebecca whether I should march home and throw Harry's things onto the lawn.
“No,” she said flatly.
Then she explained why physical access, legal occupancy, and ownership were related but distinct questions.
We would give proper notice and seek a lawful resolution if they refused to leave.
We would also protect evidence, not scatter it across the driveway.
I signed the notice with a hand that shook more from sadness than age.
Rebecca arranged for lawful service.
That evening, Harry called from Tiffany's phone.
I let the call go to voicemail.
His message began with a laugh.
“Clark, you've got a lot of nerve sending strangers to my door.”
He paused.
“Remember, I know things about you.”
The rest was mostly bluster.
But near the end he said something curious.
“Ask Martha why she trusted us.”
I played that sentence four times.
Martha had died before Harry and Tiffany married.
He had met her only once, at a family gathering when Tiffany was still dating him.
What could he possibly know about Martha's decisions?
Frank watched me replay the message.
“He's trying to get under your skin.”
“Probably.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes.”
That night I opened an old binder of our estate papers.
Martha had tucked in receipts, photographs, and handwritten notes in her careful blue script.
On the back of one insurance statement she'd written, Remember who showed up when it was hard.
I sat there for a long time.
Then I noticed a second folded page tucked behind the statement.
It wasn't addressed to me.
It was addressed to Tiffany.
And across the top, in Martha's handwriting, were five words.
May you like
IF YOU EVER ASK FOR MORE.
