The first call went to my lawyer. The second went to my property manager who oversaw maintenance for the house. The third call was to someone else whose number I had saved for situations exactly like this.
By the time I finished it was almost sunset. I sat quietly in my car while watching the sky darken over the ocean and wondered briefly whether I was about to destroy my relationship with my sister forever.
Then I remembered Bradley pointing at me like I was garbage in my own home. My doubt disappeared. That night I checked into a hotel about twenty miles away and spread all my paperwork across the bed. Property records. Insurance documents. Utility account information.
Three years earlier when Lauren asked for a spare key in case of emergencies I had agreed without hesitation because I trusted her. That trust had clearly been misplaced.
My phone buzzed with a message from Lauren. “Why are you acting so difficult. It is just one weekend. Bradley’s family thinks you are crazy.”
I typed back one sentence. “We will talk later.”
Her response appeared almost instantly. “Stop being such a drama queen.”
I turned off my phone. The next morning I drove back to Wilmington and met with my attorney, Harold Whitaker.
Harold listened quietly while I explained the situation. “So they are currently staying on your property without your direct permission,” he said while writing notes.
“Yes.”
“And your brother in law ordered you to leave in front of multiple witnesses.”
“Yes.”
Harold leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “You have a few legal options. The most aggressive option would involve calling the police immediately and having them removed for trespassing. However because your sister had a key things could become messy.”
“What is the other option,” I asked.
He smiled slightly. “We make their stay extremely uncomfortable while remaining fully within the law.”
I leaned forward. “I like the sound of that.”
Within an hour we had created a plan. By noon I had made several calls and signed a few documents. Everything we were doing was completely legal because I was simply exercising my rights as the property owner.
I drove to a café near the coast and waited. Around three in the afternoon Harold called.
“It is done,” he said.
“What about the utilities.”
“All suspended temporarily at your request.”