Chapter 4: The Records in the Basement
The Oakridge County Courthouse was a grey limestone fortress built during the New Deal, smelling of floor wax, yellowed cellulose, and damp stone.
Arthur Miller—a man of seventy with wire-rimmed glasses and suspenders that held up trousers worn thin at the pockets—led Sarah down an iron spiral staircase into the sub-basement archives.
""Arthur Holloway was a force of nature,"" Miller said, pulling a massive leather-bound ledger from a floor-to-ceiling metal shelf. Dust motes danced in the beam of his flashlight. ""When he subdivided the North Ridge parcel back in ninety-five, he fought the zoning board for eight months. Said he wasn't going to let developers turn family farmland into sterile concrete boxes.""
Miller opened the ledger across a wooden inspection table. He adjusted his glasses, running a liver-spotted finger down the inked columns.
""Here it is,"" Miller whispered. ""Parcel 408. North Ridge Estates.""
He tapped the registry entry.
""The master deed was never split, Sarah. When your father passed, Madeline filed a preliminary executor's affidavit claiming you had signed an off-record quitclaim deed in exchange for cash consideration.""
""I never signed a quitclaim,"" Sarah said firmly.
Miller pulled a small magnifying glass from his waistcoat and peered at a photostatic copy glued to the page. He shook his head slowly.
""The notary stamp on this quitclaim is dated November 14, 2012. Sarah... the notary public listed here is Harold Vance.""
Sarah frowned. ""Who is Harold Vance?""
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""He was Madeline’s second husband's business partner,"" Miller said, closing the ledger with a heavy, muffled *thump*. ""His notary license was revoked by the state in 2010 for fraudulent mortgage filings. This document is null and void on its face. Legally speaking, Madeline never owned that subdivision alone. You own half of everything—the land, the water rights, and every rent check she collected across all six parcels.""
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