“As power of attorney,” the clerk said quietly.
“It was notarized.”
Grandma stood completely still for a long moment.
Then she opened her purse and placed a second document on the counter — one I hadn’t seen before.
“Then can you tell me,” she said, “why I signed this the same morning?”
It was a revocation.
Signed, witnessed, and dated three days before the transfer went through.
The clerk’s face went pale.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a number I didn’t recognize.
I answered.
“Ivan.” A woman’s voice.
Careful.
Nervous.
“My name is Patricia.
I stepped away from the courthouse counter and lowered my voice.
“Patricia, what did you see?”
“A moving truck,” she said.
“A big one.
Backed right up to Eleanor’s front door.
Two men were carrying things out — furniture, boxes, lamps.
I thought maybe Eleanor had arranged it herself, but then I saw your father directing them from the porch.”
I turned toward Grandma.
She was still standing at the counter, watching me.
“How long were they there?” I asked.
“Three hours, maybe more.
They left around noon.” Patricia paused.
“Ivan, they took the dining room set.
The one with the carved legs.
I’ve sat at that table for forty years of Christmas dinners.”
I pressed my hand flat against the courthouse wall.
“Did they take anything else?”
“The cabinet from the hallway.
The one with the glass doors.
And there was a man in a suit who went upstairs.
He was carrying a briefcase.
He stayed about twenty minutes and left before the truck did.”
“A man in a suit.”
“I didn’t recognize him.
But I wrote down his license plate.” She read it out slowly.
“I wasn’t sure if I should call.
I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“You did the right thing,” I said.
“Patricia, don’t go anywhere.
We may need you.”
I hung up and walked back to Grandma.
She read my face before I said a word.
“They went to the house,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Moving truck.
