The Title Examiner Put My Deed Beside Her Sale Agreement

Wyatt Bell laid two maps across his desk and weighted the corners with coffee mugs.

"I don't like curled edges," he said.

He was forty-four, a white man with sandy hair, a broad face, and sleeves buttoned at the wrists. His office looked as if every paper had been asked to sit still.

My lawyer, Celia Reed, sat beside me. I had met her an hour earlier. Her first instruction had been to bring originals and keep copies.

"Start with the deed," she said.

Wyatt placed my blue envelope beside the sale agreement.

"The nursery estate contains Parcel A. Six point one acres. The greenhouse stands on Parcel B. Point seven four acres."

He ran a finger along the survey line.

"Separate legal descriptions. Separate tax accounts. Your grandmother conveyed B to you three years ago. I examined that transfer."

"They thought I was the woman who washed the trays," I said. "But I owned the ground under them."

Saying it aloud made my hands stop shaking.

Wyatt turned another page.

Grandma's signed transfer list covered the greenhouse, its benches, irrigation equipment, and breeding stock. It matched the inventory I updated each winter.

"A later will doesn't erase a completed deed," Celia said. "We'll answer any challenge with the actual records."

The sale agreement named Sora as the estate's personal representative. She had obtained a temporary appointment before anyone raised an objection.

Both parcel descriptions appeared in an attachment. Beneath them, Sora had signed a statement that she had authority to sell everything listed.

The buyer, Jo Mercer, had put $25,000 in escrow.

"Can the sale go through?" I asked.

"Not with my office insuring this title," Wyatt said. "The seller doesn't own one of the parcels."

His desk phone rang.

He glanced at the display and answered on speaker after asking whether we minded.

"Mr. Bell," Sora said, "I hear you've invited my niece into my business."

"Her parcel is included in your agreement."

"My mother's final will revoked those little gifts."

"I need documents that establish your authority. What you've supplied does not do that."

"Then ask someone senior."

"I'm responsible for this examination."

"You will cost me a sale."

He picked a piece of lint from the map.

"I won't hurry a title search because someone threatens me."

She hung up.

Wyatt wrote the call time in a log. I liked that more than any angry answer he could have given her.

He sent a written ownership objection to the escrow officer and copied Celia. The closing file now had a clear stop on Parcel B.

That protected the land. It did not water a plant.

"I need access today," I said.

Celia read the easement attached to my deed. Grandma had kept the shared well on Parcel A. The recorded agreement gave B the right to water, power for the pump, and a driveway along the east fence. I paid forty percent of the shared costs.

I pulled up my bank statements. Every payment was there, marked with the month.

"Good," Celia said. "Send those to me."

We drove to the nursery together. Jo Mercer was waiting by the gate with muddy boots and a folder tucked under her coat.

"I wanted to meet the person I'm supposedly buying from," she said.

She had planned to keep the nursery growing plants. The greenhouse had helped justify Sora's price, but Jo had never spoken to me.

"Your aunt said you were an employee moving away."

"I haven't even moved my lunch out of the fridge."

Jo did not laugh.

"I'm asking escrow to hold my deposit while this gets sorted out. I won't buy land from someone who can't sell it."

Inside the fence, Sora stood with her arms folded.

Celia handed her a letter requesting my immediate access and preservation of the plants. She explained that we would seek a court order if needed.

"She may collect personal things on Saturday," Sora said.

"The greenhouse belongs to her."

"That remains to be seen."

Through the glass, I could see the yellow tags of our twelve plant families. A tray on the north bench had tipped sideways.

"Let me set that right."

Sora looked over her shoulder.

"You could have helped me sell this place peacefully."

"I still can help sell what the estate owns."

"You mean what you've left me."

We left without getting through the gate. Celia was already calling her office from the car.

At four that afternoon, Wyatt emailed the full sale packet. I downloaded it, keeping its original file name and date.

The last page was a notice to end shared services before the buyer took possession.

Sora had signed it that morning.

The pump service was scheduled to be disconnected at eight the next day.