Mr.
Ellison slowly lifted the first document and looked straight at me.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Patricia’s smile faded first.
“What is it?” she demanded.
Mr.
Ellison didn’t answer her immediately.
He turned the first page over, checked the signature block, and then pulled another document from the leather folder.
His eyes narrowed.
“Who prepared these?”
Harold shifted in his chair.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it matters very much.”
Patricia made an impatient sound.
“They’re standard transfer documents.
Megan signed them.
That’s what matters.”
Mr.
Ellison looked at me again.
“Mrs.
Walker, did you sign these pages tonight?”
“Yes.”
Patricia folded her arms as if that settled everything.
“There.
You heard her.”
Mr.
Ellison ignored her.
“Did you alter any language before signing?”
“No.”
“Add any conditions?”
“No.”
“Change the signature blocks?”
“No.”
I could see Patricia becoming irritated by every answer.
“What exactly is the problem?” she snapped.
Mr.
Ellison laid the deed on his knee.
“The problem is that these papers do not convey the house to you.”
Harold laughed once.
“She signed the deed.”
“She signed a document identifying her as the individual owner of property she does not own individually.”
That stopped him.
Patricia stared at the lawyer.
“Of course she owns the house.
Daniel died.”
Mr.
Ellison’s expression changed from alarm to something closer to disbelief.
“Did neither of you review Daniel’s probate records after his death?”
Neither answered.
I finally did.
“I did.”
Patricia turned toward me.
That was the moment she realized my silence had never meant ignorance.
After Daniel’s accident, I had spent months learning things I never wanted to know about wills, deeds, business shares, beneficiary designations, insurance forms, and trust documents.
Daniel had owned the renovation company before we married.
The house had been bought later.
