Then I opened a new document. Not the incident file. Not the property records. Just a blank page.
At the top I typed:
Things I know for certain.
Beneath it, I started a list.
The list had eleven items by the time I stopped.
I read it over once. Then I saved the document in the same folder as the lien confirmation. I named it the same way I named everything.
Plainly, with a date, without drama.
Leon Bassett had not yet called.
But he would.
I turned off the light and went to bed.
Leon Bassett called on a Thursday, six days after I came home from the hospital.
I was at my desk when the call came in, working through a stack of title commitment letters that had accumulated while I was recovering. Pat had offered to handle them, but I had declined.
Having work to return to was useful. It gave the days a shape.
The number was unfamiliar, but the area code was local.
I answered on the second ring.
“Is this Meredith Hale?” he said.
His voice was careful, the voice of a man who was not sure what kind of call he was making.
“It is,” I said.
“My name is Leon Bassett. I’m a licensed real estate agent here in Raleigh, and I’m calling about a property on Walton Ridge Drive.”
A brief pause.
“I understand you’re the owner of record.”
“I am,” I said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bassett?”
Another pause. Longer this time. I could hear him deciding something.
“I want to be straightforward with you,” he said. “I was contacted recently by a woman who identified herself as being associated with this property. She indicated she was in a position to discuss a potential listing. I began a title search as part of my standard due diligence, and the search returned several instruments I wasn’t expecting.”
He stopped.
“I think you should know about them. Although I suspect you already do.”
“I do,” I said. “Tell me what you found.”
He went through it carefully, like a man reading from a document, which he likely was. The mechanics lien. Instrument No. 2024-059872, recorded October seventh. The transfer-on-death deed registered to a revocable trust in my name. The power-of-attorney revocation filed October ninth. Certified delivery confirmed.
“Every page of the title search has your name on it,” he said. “There is no path to a listing or a sale without your direct participation and written consent. The person who contacted me does not appear to have any legal authority over this property.”
I let a moment pass before I responded.
“That’s correct,” I said.
He exhaled once, quietly. I had the impression this was not the strangest situation he had encountered in his career, but that it was in the upper portion of the range.
“I want you to know,” he said, “that if I had been aware of the full ownership picture from the beginning, I would have contacted you first. That’s standard practice. I wasn’t given accurate information.”
“I understand,” I said. “I don’t hold you responsible for that.”
“Is there anything you need from me?” he said. “Documentation of the inquiry? Anything of that nature?”
I thought for a moment.
“Yes,” I said. “If you could email me a copy of the title search report and any communications you received in connection with this inquiry, I would appreciate it. My firm email is on file with the county as the property contact.”
“I’ll send it this afternoon,” he said.
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