Chapter 6: What Karla Built on Borrowed Ground
The counterclaim arrived eight days later.
Patricia called me on a Tuesday morning, her voice carrying the particular flatness she used when something was serious but not fatal.
"They've filed," she said.
"Karla and your mother, jointly.
The claim has three parts.
First: the transfer was fraudulent because your mother's signature was obtained under misrepresentation.
Second: you were aware of the misrepresentation at the time of transfer and benefited knowingly.
Third — " A brief pause.
"Third: they allege that the apartment was used as collateral in a private loan agreement between your father and a third party, and that the transfer to you was made to conceal assets and avoid repayment."
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"A loan.
What loan?"
"That's what we need to find out.
If it exists, it complicates the title.
If it doesn't exist, it's a fabrication — and fabricating evidence in a property claim carries its own consequences."
"Can they do this?
Just invent a loan?"
"They can allege it.
They cannot fabricate documentation without committing fraud.
If they produce documents, we examine them.
If they produce nothing, the claim collapses." Patricia's voice stayed even.
"Laura, this is a pressure tactic.
They want you to settle.
They want you to offer Karla the mortgage payments back in exchange for dropping the claim."
"I'm not doing that."
"I know.
So we respond.
I need you to ask your father directly about any loan agreements involving the apartment.
Today, if possible."
I called Arthur within the hour.
He answered on the second ring.
"The counterclaim," I said.
"They're alleging you used the apartment as collateral for a private loan.
Is there any truth to that?"
Silence.
A different kind of silence than before.
"Dad."
"There was a loan," he said.
"Twelve years ago.
From your mother's brother, your uncle Gerald.
$30,000.
We paid it back.
Fully.
I have the receipts."
"Does a written agreement exist?"
"It was informal.
A letter.
Gerald wrote it, I signed it.
It mentioned the apartment as — as a gesture of good faith.
Not a legal lien.
Gerald and I shook hands when it was repaid.
He wrote 'settled in full' on the letter and gave it back to me."
"Where is that letter now?"
A pause that lasted three full seconds.
"In the filing cabinet at the apartment.
In the bottom drawer."
The apartment I owned.
That my mother currently occupied.
With full access to every drawer in every room.
"Dad," I said carefully.
"Does Mom know about that letter?"
"She was there when Gerald wrote it.
She — " He stopped.
"Laura, she wouldn't."
"She already has a solicitor and a counterclaim," I said.
"Call me back when you've checked the drawer."
He called back forty minutes later.
His voice had changed again — flatter, older, a sound I had not heard from him before.
"It's gone," he said.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
"The receipt showing it was repaid.
The 'settled in full' notation.
All of it."
"Is Gerald still alive?"
"Yes.
He's in Florida.
We haven't spoken in years.
He and your mother had a falling out."
"Would he remember the repayment?"
"I — I believe so.
He's an honest man.
He was always an honest man."
"I need his contact information," I said.
"And I need it today."
Patricia, when I called her back, was quiet for a moment after I finished.
"If Gerald confirms the repayment and will provide a written statement," she said, "the third part of their claim falls apart.
And if they produced or altered documentation to support a loan they knew was settled — "
"That's fraud," I said.
"That is fraud," Patricia confirmed.
"Which changes the nature of this matter considerably."
I spent that evening drafting a careful, neutral email to Gerald in Florida.
I explained who I was, what had happened, and what I needed.
I kept it short.
I did not tell him what I suspected his sister had done.
I pressed send and put Sophia to bed and sat in the small kitchen with Mrs.
Gable's radio playing softly in the next room.
Gerald replied at 6 a.m.
the next morning.
*Laura.
I remember everything.
I have my own copy of the original letter and the settled notation.
I kept it because your mother asked me to destroy it years ago and I didn't like being told what to do with my own paperwork.
Tell me where to send it.*
May you like
I read it twice.
Then I walked to the window and looked out at the early morning street and let the feeling move through me completely before I picked up the phone to call Patricia.
