Chapter 5 - The Attorney and the Property
His attorney was waiting in Elena’s upstairs apartment when we returned.
Her name was Julia Marlowe, and she wore navy blue instead of intimidating black.
She listened without interrupting while I described Regina, Tony, the supposed fifty-thousand-dollar debt, and the months I had spent moving between temporary jobs.
Then she asked a strange question.
“What was your father’s full name?”
“Daniel Bennett.”
Julia stopped writing.
Across the table, Michael looked up.
“What?” I asked.
Julia glanced at him.
“You know the name?”
Michael’s expression had changed.
“Maybe.”
My stomach tightened.
“Maybe?”
He stood and walked to the window.
“Years ago, my father did business with a Daniel Bennett.”
I stared at him.
“What kind of business?”
“Property.”
“My father repaired furniture.”
“He did that later.”
“No. He did it his whole life.”
Michael turned.
“Aurora, I was young. I might be wrong.”
Julia interrupted gently.
“Did your father ever own buildings?”
“One.”
The answer came slowly.
“A small apartment building in Brooklyn. He sold it when I was a teenager.”
“What street?”
I told them.
Michael swore softly.
I stood.
“What?”
“That building belonged to a partnership.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My father owned half.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“That’s impossible.”
Michael walked to the table.
“My father and a man named Daniel Bennett bought three properties together almost twenty-five years ago. One was on the street you just named.”
“Three?”
“Yes.”
“My father only owned one building.”
“That may be what you were told.”
Julia opened her laptop.
“Property records are public.”
She searched for several minutes.
The silence stretched.
Then she turned the screen toward me.
There it was.
Daniel Bennett.
My father’s name.
Listed beside Angelo Moretti.
Michael’s father.
On three old property records.
Two had been sold years ago.
The third was different.
Julia leaned closer.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“This property was never sold.”
Michael read the address.
His expression sharpened.
I recognized it too.
An old brick building near the waterfront.
I had passed it a hundred times as a child.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Julia continued reading.
“It means Daniel Bennett’s ownership interest should have passed according to his estate.”
“My father didn’t have an estate. Regina said there was nothing.”
Julia looked at me.
“Who handled the paperwork after he died?”
“Regina.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“And you never saw the will?”
I shook my head.
“My father told me once there was one. After he died, Regina said he had changed it.”
Julia closed her laptop halfway.
“Did you sign anything?”
The memory came slowly.
A kitchen table.
A stack of papers.
Regina telling nineteen-year-old me that they were forms for closing my father’s accounts.
My own hand signing page after page because grief had made every sentence look like meaningless black lines.
“I signed documents.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
Julia remained calm.
“Do you remember what they were?”
May you like
“No.”
“Then that is where we start.”
