I’d saved him $12 million in a divorce settlement by finding his ex-wife’s offshore accounts. He picked up on the second ring. Marcus King. To what do I owe the pleasure? You still interested in a unit in the meridian? Silence. Then your building? My unit. 3-bedroom, two bath, renovated kitchen, floor to ceiling, windows facing the river.
You’re selling 300,000 cash. Close in 48 hours. Marcus, that place is worth at least 350. Probably 400 in the current market. I know what it’s worth. I need speed, not money. Can you do it or not? Another pause. What’s going on? Family complications. He laughed low and knowing. Say no more. I’ll have my attorney draw up the paperwork tonight.
We can close on the 27th. Perfect. I hung up and opened a bottle of the cheap wine from the hotel mini bar, poured myself a glass, raised it to the empty room. Merry Christmas to me. The next 48 hours moved like a chess match. I called Janet Reeves, my attorney. 30 years at Morrison and Hart, specializing in real estate law.
She’d handled my purchase 2 years ago. Janet, I need documents for a quick sale. 48 hour close. Marcus, honey, that’s barely enough time for a title search. Sterling’s buying. He knows the building. He’s waving inspection. He must really want it or you must really need out. the latter. Family, you’re perceptive. She sighed. I’ll have everything ready by tomorrow morning.
But Marcus, whatever’s happening, make sure you’re not going to regret this. The only thing I’d regret is doing nothing. Next call. Rick Chen, property manager at the Meridian. Former police detective turned building security. We’d become friends over late night conversations in the lobby. Rick, I need a favor. Name it.
I’m selling my unit. Closing on the 27th. New owner takes possession the 28th. If anyone tries to enter my place, and I mean anyone, they’re trespassing. Even family. Especially family. Silence on the line. Then you need me to be there when they show up. I need you to handle it however you see fit. New owner’s instructions, legal authority, the works. Consider it done.
I spent December 26th systematically removing everything that mattered from my condo. My grandmother’s jewelry, the pearls she’d given me before she died, worth $15,000. The watch my mentor gave me when I made senior partner. My college diplomas. The first edition books I’d collected for a decade. The art I’d bought from a struggling student who’d later become famous, now worth $40,000.
My electronics, my clothes, my files,everything went into a storage unit I’d rented under an LLC name they’d never trace. Then I went shopping. Goodwill had a beautiful selection of furniture that looked expensive from a distance but fell apart on contact. A sofa with springs that poked through the cushions, a dining table with one leg shorter than the others, plates with chips, silverware that was actually plastic.
I replaced every nice thing in my condo with garbage, left my TV, the one that barely worked, the one I’d been meaning to donate for a year. left cheap sheets on the bed, scratchy towels in the bathroom, put expired food in the fridge, stocked the pantry with dented cans and stale crackers. Then I sat down at that wobbly table and wrote a note.
Welcome home, sis. Make yourself comfortable. You’ve earned this. I left it on the kitchen counter next to a bottle of $3 wine. The closing happened at Morrison and Hart’s offices. Mahogany and leather, the smell of old money and new contracts. Sterling showed up with his attorney, Diane Park, known for closing billiondollar deals.
She looked at me with curiosity. Most people celebrate selling their first home, she said. You look like you’re planning a funeral, more like attending one. The documents took 20 minutes to sign. Sterling handed over a cashier’s check for $300,000. You sure about this? He asked. This is a hell of a discount. I’m sure. Just promise me one thing.
What’s that? On December 28th, 10:00 a.m. exactly. Send your security team to take possession. And if there are people inside claiming to have permission to be there, have them removed immediately. No warnings, no second chances. He studied my face. Someone’s squatting. Someone’s attempting to.
They picked the wrong property owner to mess with. That’s what I’m counting on. Janet slid the final documents across the table. Marcus, I have to ask. Are you moving out of state? Taking a vacation? Where? Maldes. Leaving tonight. Sterling laughed. You’re really doing this. I really am. I walked out of that office $300,000 richer and completely unburdened.
December 27th, evening. I sat in a first class airport lounge, sipping champagne I definitely couldn’t have afforded before this week, watching the security camera feeds on my laptop. The text from my mother had come through at 400 p.m. Emma’s so excited. She’s packing now. The boys can’t wait to see their new home. You’re an angel, Marcus.
This is what family does for family. At 6:00 p.m., I watched my father’s car pull up to the meridian. Emma and Kyle got out, already bickering about which boxes went where. My father used his stolen key, smooth as anything, and let them inside. I zoomed in on Emma’s face as she stepped into the condo.
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