Chapter 3: Forty-Seven Calls
The first call came at 9:07 the next morning.
I was standing in my new kitchen, trying to figure out why the coffee machine kept making a strange rattling noise.
My phone vibrated against the counter.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
Then it rang again.
This time, the caller ID showed my mother's name.
I stared at it.
For six months, I had heard nothing from her.
Not one birthday message.
Not one question about my job.
Not one attempt to find out whether I was okay.
Now, suddenly, she was calling.
I let it ring.
A minute later, another call came.
Then another.
At 9:15, my phone began lighting up so quickly that I couldn't keep track.
Mom.
Dad.
Trevor.
Mom again.
Dad again.
I turned it face down.
The coffee machine finally stopped rattling.
I poured myself a cup and carried it into the living room.
But the phone wouldn't stop.
At 9:23, I picked it up.
Twenty-one missed calls.
I opened my messages.
*MOM:* Emily, call me immediately.
*DAD:* We need to talk.
*TREVOR:* Where did you get that house?
I frowned.
Another message appeared.
*MOM:* Why didn't you tell us you were buying property?
I almost laughed.
Why didn't I tell them?
Because they hadn't spoken to me in six months.
Because they had missed the biggest day of my life.
Because when I had called my mother from the graduation auditorium, she had told me there was already one successful child in the family.
I typed a response.
Then deleted it.
I wasn't going to explain myself.
At 9:31, Riley called.
I answered.
"Hey.""
"Emily, are you seeing this?""
"Seeing what?""
"Your family is losing their minds.""
I sat down.
"What are you talking about?""
"Your mother commented on your picture.""
I opened Facebook.
There it was.
My mother's comment.
Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us? Your father and I would have loved to help you with this big step.
I stared at the sentence.
Then I read it again.
Would have loved to help?
I scrolled down.
Trevor had commented too.
Nice house. Guess some people have money to waste.
My father had said nothing publicly.
But he had apparently been calling me repeatedly.
"Riley?""
"Yeah?""
"Did you see the street name?""
"Maple Ridge Drive?""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
I hesitated.
"My parents drive down that street every day.""
Riley went quiet.
"Wait. Are you serious?""
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.
"There's a shopping center near their house. Maple Ridge is the quickest route.""
"That's creepy.""
"I know.""
She lowered her voice.
"Emily, there's something else.""
"What?""
"Your mom messaged me.""
I straightened.
"What did she say?""
"She asked if I knew how much you paid for the house.""
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Not whether I was happy.
Not whether I needed anything.
Not whether I had finally settled in.
The price.
Riley continued.
"Then she asked whether you were planning to keep it.""
I frowned.
"Why would she ask that?""
"I don't know. But she sounded strange.""
I looked toward the front window.
My house was quiet.
A small breeze moved the curtains.
"Just don't tell her anything.""
"I won't.""
After we hung up, I checked the call log again.
Thirty-two missed calls.
Then thirty-three.
I finally answered when my father called.
"Hello?""
"Emily.""
His voice was unusually sharp.
"Where did you get that house?""
I leaned back against the kitchen counter.
"Good morning to you too, Dad.""
"Don't play games. I'm asking you a question.""
"I bought it.""
"With what money?""
"My money.""
He exhaled.
"How much did you pay?""
"Why?""
"Because I need to know.""
I laughed once.
"You need to know?""
"Emily, this is important.""
"Then explain why.""
He hesitated.
In the background, I heard my mother speaking.
"Ask her about the previous owner!""
My father covered the phone, but not quickly enough.
I heard every word.
I froze.
"Previous owner?""
My father returned to the call.
"Listen carefully. That house may be connected to something involving our family.""
I stared at the wall.
"What does that mean?""
"Your mother and I need to come over.""
"No.""
"Emily—"
"You haven't seen me in six months. You missed my graduation. You didn't congratulate me when I got my job.
You didn't even know I was looking for a house. Why are you suddenly interested in my property?""
He lowered his voice.
"Because you don't understand what you've bought.""
My stomach tightened.
"What exactly did I buy?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said, "We'll discuss it in person.""
Then he hung up.
I stood motionless.
For the first time since buying the house, the excitement I felt began to mix with something else.
Confusion.
I opened the property documents on my laptop.
The address was correct.
The deed was in my name.
The inspection had been completed.
There were no outstanding liens.
Everything was legal.
So what did my father know?
I called Patricia, the real estate agent.
She answered quickly.
"Emily! How's the new house?""
"Good. I actually have a question.""
"Sure.""
"Did the previous owners mention anything unusual about the property?""
"Unusual?""
"Something involving my family, maybe?""
She paused.
"Your family?""
"My parents seem to think the house is connected to something.""
Patricia became quiet.
Then she said, "Well, there was something unusual about the sale.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What?""
"The previous owner had been trying to sell for a while. There was a family dispute involving the property several years ago. But everything was resolved before the listing.""
"What kind of family dispute?""
"I don't have the full details. The title company handled the legal side.""
"Was the previous owner related to my parents?""
Patricia hesitated.
"I can't say for certain.""
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I searched the address online.
Old listings appeared.
A few neighborhood photographs.
A property tax record.
Nothing that explained why my father sounded terrified.
At 10:02, my phone vibrated again.
Forty-seven missed calls.
Forty-seven.
All within one hour.
I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the number.
My mother had called twenty times.
My father had called fifteen.
Trevor had called twelve.
I had never seen so many attempts to reach me.
I opened my mother's latest voicemail.
Her voice sounded different.
The usual irritation was gone.
"Emily, sweetheart, please answer. We need to talk. Your father is very upset.
We didn't realize you were buying that particular house. Call me as soon as you get this.""
I replayed the message.
That particular house.
Not a house.
That particular house.
I called Grandma Evelyn.
She answered after two rings.
"Emily?""
"Hi, Grandma.""
"Oh, sweetheart. I saw your picture. Congratulations!""
I smiled for the first time that morning.
"Thank you.""
"I wish I'd known. I would have brought you something.""
"You don't have to bring me anything.""
"I want to. Your grandfather would have loved seeing you with your own front door.""
I swallowed.
"Grandma, can I ask you something?""
"Of course.""
"Do you know anything about my parents and Maple Ridge Drive?""
The line went silent.
I waited.
Then Grandma Evelyn said, "Why are you asking?""
"My parents have called me forty-seven times since I posted the house picture.""
She inhaled sharply.
"Forty-seven?""
"Yes. Dad said the house was connected to something involving our family.""
Another silence.
Then she spoke carefully.
"Emily, what is your house number?""
I told her.
I heard a faint sound.
Like someone placing a glass on a table.
"Oh, dear.""
My stomach dropped.
"What?""
"That's the house.""
"What house?""
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she asked, "Did your parents tell you anything about your grandfather's estate?""
I frowned.
"No.""
"Not even about the money?""
"What money?""
Grandma Evelyn sighed.
"Your grandfather left something behind when he died. Something that was supposed to be divided between the grandchildren.""
I sat up.
"Trevor and me?""
"Yes.""
"What did he leave?""
"Your parents handled most of the paperwork.""
My throat went dry.
"Grandma, what are you saying?""
"I need to find the old documents before I explain anything. I don't want to tell you something incorrectly.""
"Why didn't you ever mention this?""
"Because I trusted your father to do the right thing.""
I looked at the house around me.
The kitchen.
The living room.
The blue front door.
Everything I had worked for suddenly felt connected to a story I hadn't been told.
"Grandma, is there a reason my parents are so upset about this house?""
She lowered her voice.
"Emily, listen to me. Do not sign anything your parents bring you. Not one piece of paper.""
My heart began pounding.
"Why?""
"Because I think they were counting on you never finding out.""
Before I could ask another question, she said she needed to get off the phone.
I sat there for several minutes.
Then I opened the bottom drawer of my kitchen cabinet and pulled out the folder containing my purchase documents.
I flipped through the pages.
Deed.
Inspection report.
Mortgage agreement.
Property disclosure.
Then I reached a document I hadn't paid much attention to before.
It was a copy of an old ownership record included in the title search.
The previous owner was listed as:
*Evelyn Carter Family Trust.*
I stared at the words.
My grandmother's name.
I checked the date.
The trust had been established more than fifteen years earlier.
I read the document again.
Then I noticed a handwritten note attached to the back.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the sentence was clear.
Transfer to beneficiary upon sale. Proceeds to be divided according to original trust instructions.
I felt a chill move down my spine.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was my mother.
I answered.
"Mom?""
Her voice was trembling.
"Emily, sweetheart, please listen to me.""
"What is going on?""
"Your father and I are coming over.""
"I already told Dad no.""
"This isn't about your graduation anymore.""
I looked at the document.
"What is it about?""
She took a breath.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"That house was supposed to belong to Trevor.""
I stood up.
"What?""
"Your grandfather promised it to him.""
I looked at the blue front door.
Then at the SOLD sign visible through the window.
"Then why was it sold to me?""
My mother began crying.
And in the background, I heard my father shout:
"Don't tell her about the trust!""
The call disconnected.
I stood in the middle of my kitchen, holding the phone.
A few seconds later, headlights appeared outside.
A dark SUV turned into my driveway.
My father's car.
Behind it was my mother's sedan.
And in the passenger seat of the SUV, Trevor was holding a thick brown envelope.
The three of them had finally come to see me.
But they weren't bringing flowers.
May you like
They were bringing paperwork.
And judging by the expression on my father's face when he stepped out of the car, he was about to demand something he believed I had no right to refuse.
