Chapter 52 - The Pre-1992 Conveyance
The heavy wrought-iron gates swung open with a mechanical groan, and the lead Escalade purred up the winding cobblestone drive, flanked by rain-drenched maple trees. Arthur Jr. stepped out into the courtyard, adjusting his cashmere scarf before walking up the stone steps as if he had lived here his entire life.
Behind him stood a sheriff’s deputy in uniform, holding a manila folder, and two private security guards in slate-gray suits.
When I swung open the front door, the cool autumn air swept into the foyer. Arthur Jr. paused on the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the hand-carved molding, the imported chandelier, and finally settling on me.
"Lauren," he said, offering a practiced, polished smile. "You look remarkably like our mother. Fierce, stubborn, and completely out of your depth."
"Step inside before you catch pneumonia, Arthur," I said, stepping aside without backing down an inch. "And leave your hired muscle on the porch. The deputy may enter as a witness."
Arthur waved his guards back with a dismissive flick of his wrist and stepped across the threshold, his leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. He stopped in front of Richard, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.
"Richard Vance," Arthur said softly. "The man who spent thirty years believing he was the master of Maplewood. Tell me, did she ever love you, or were you always just the banker who paid the construction bills?"
"Watch your tongue," Marcus warned, stepping forward, his broad frame blocking the path to the inner study.
Arthur chuckled and reached into his coat pocket. Marcus stiffened, but Arthur merely pulled out a certified legal binder stamped with gold foil. He tossed it onto the credenza.
"Let’s skip the family reunion pleasantries," Arthur said. "In October 1991, Arthur Montgomery Sr. purchased this parcel of land under the corporate veil of Silverwood Holdings. Two weeks later, he executed a transfer on death deed to his infant son—me—retaining a life estate for Eleanor Vance. When Richard 'bought' the property in 1993, the deed he received was forged by Eleanor's shell company. You never owned the underlying fee simple, Richard. You bought a counterfeit lease."
Richard gasped, his hand clutching his chest as he sank onto the bench in the foyer. "That’s impossible... the title insurance company cleared the chain..."
"The title company was owned by Montgomery’s uncle, Richard," Arthur replied smugly. "It was dissolved in 1996. The statute of limitations on civil title fraud expired twenty years ago, but an unrecorded superior equitable interest doesn't expire. The house belongs to me. I have given you seventy-two hours to vacate. After that, anything left behind will be auctioned off."
"You forgot one detail, Arthur," I intervened, walking directly up to him until we stood eye to eye. "In Washington state, an unrecorded deed cannot defeat a bona fide purchaser for value who took possession in good faith. Richard held open, notorious, hostile possession for over ten years. We have title by adverse possession, even if your fraud was airtight."
May you like
Arthur's smile didn't waver, but his eyes turned dangerous. "Adverse possession requires the possession to be hostile, Lauren. Richard paid rent to Eleanor’s offshore management company every single year under the guise of 'property maintenance.' That acknowledges tenancy. You aren't owners. You’re squatters. And seventy-two hours is ticking."
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