ADVERTISEMENT
The next morning, you wake before dawn and put on the dark blue pants, cream-colored blouse, and pearl earrings Daniel gave you for your twenty-fifth anniversary. Armor can take many forms. Yours has always had the look of composure. By 7:30, you’re downstairs in the inn’s small breakfast room, coffee, toast, and your open leather briefcase beside you. Inside are copies of the property deed, the trust certificate, a recent utility bill, proof of insurance, and a typewritten list of names and numbers. Among them: Diane Keller, the local locksmith, the police phone number for non-emergencies, and the private security firm that monitors several properties in the area, including the summer homes of the more affluent residents who know full well that the coasts attract both bad weather and daring.
At 8:05, you call Diane.
She responds with the quick wit of a woman who bills every six minutes but remembers every clause she’s drafted. “Eleanor.”
“Good morning, Diane. I have a trespassing problem.”
As you finish explaining, she lets out a thoughtful murmur. “Didn’t you give your son or daughter-in-law any permission to occupy the property, host guests, or grant usage rights to third parties?”
“NO.”
“And your son admitted last night that he planned to have Megan’s relatives stay there for weeks?”
“YES.”
“Good.” He pauses. “Good from a legal standpoint, not a moral one.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sending you a notice by email right now. Print it out at the inn if they allow it. Deliver it in person if you feel safe doing so, ideally with a witness nearby. If they refuse to leave, call local law enforcement and clearly state that unauthorized occupants remain after any purported authorization by the sole trustee and owner-beneficiary has been revoked. Also, Eleanor…”
“YES?”
“Don’t negotiate on the porch.”
This almost makes you smile. “You know me too well.”
“No,” she replies. “I know the families too well.”
⏬️⏬️ Continue on the next page ⏬️⏬️
ADVERTISEMENT
