I called Diane after speaking with Claire.
She was in a meeting, so I left a message asking her to return my call when she could.
Then I sat at the kitchen table and wrote down what Claire had said.
I tried to keep the notes factual.
She had admitted that Nathan told her parents he was working toward buying the house.
She had said she didn't know how to correct them.
When I asked about paperwork, she became hesitant and told me to wait for Diane's review.
I did not write down what I thought that meant.
I had learned enough in the past few days to know that my guesses could be wrong.
Still, I couldn't stop thinking about her last answer.
She had not said there was no paperwork.
She had not said she knew nothing about it.
She had asked me to wait.
I made myself put the notebook away.
There was no point in calling her again immediately.
If she had something to tell me, I wanted her to say it without feeling cornered.
I also wanted to hear what Diane had found before I let another conversation with my family influence my understanding of the facts.
That afternoon, I went to my office at the contracting business.
I hadn't planned to work a full day, but I needed to get out of the house.
My crew had a small repair job scheduled, and there were invoices waiting to be reviewed.
Work had always given me something solid to focus on.
A measurement was a measurement.
If a piece of lumber was too short, no amount of arguing could make it fit.
I spent an hour checking the materials list for an upcoming job.
Then I reviewed a supplier's invoice and called to correct a mistake in the quantity.
The ordinary routine helped.
For a while, I almost forgot about Cypress Creek.
Then one of my employees asked whether I had heard back from the attorney about the property.
I had mentioned the issue in passing the day before.
"Not yet," I said.
He nodded and returned to his work.
I was grateful he didn't ask for details.
I didn't want to explain that I was trying to find out whether my own son had done something involving a house I had let him occupy for free.
It was too personal.
It was also too uncertain.
I left the office late in the afternoon and drove home.
When I opened the door, I found a message from Diane.
She wanted me to call her as soon as possible.
I did.
"Arthur, I've made progress."
I sat at the kitchen table.
"What have you confirmed?"
"I'm still verifying the full picture, but I've identified information connected to the property that needs to be examined more closely."
"Is this about the ownership record?"
"Partly. I want to compare the relevant records with the documents we already have before I make any definitive statement."
I pressed my fingers against the table.
"Can you tell me whether somebody has tried to transfer the house?"
"I haven't confirmed a completed transfer. I don't want you to assume that the property has changed hands."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"But you're concerned."
"Yes."
The word was simple.
It was enough.
Diane explained that she was reviewing the available information to determine whether anyone had represented the property as being available for a transaction and whether my authorization had been claimed or implied.
She did not name anyone.
She did not tell me that a crime had occurred.
She told me that the next step was to establish what had been submitted, who had supplied it, and whether any action had been taken based on it.
I listened carefully.
I was a construction man, not a lawyer.
I understood deeds and invoices.
I knew how to check a contractor's work and recognize when a repair had been done poorly.
But legal documents could carry consequences I wasn't equipped to assess on my own.
That was why I had hired Diane years ago.
"What do you need me to do?" I asked.
"Keep every document you have. Don't sign anything connected to the property, and don't authorize anyone to negotiate on your behalf."
"I won't."
"Also, if Nathan or Claire sends you anything related to ownership, please forward it to me before responding."
I agreed.
After the call, I checked my email.
There was nothing new from Nathan.
I found myself wondering whether he had gone to work that day or stayed home to deal with Claire's parents.
I wondered whether Richard and Margaret had confronted him.
I wondered whether Claire was angry about the lie itself or simply frightened that the story had begun to unravel.
I had no way of knowing.
And, for once, I didn't try to fill the gaps with explanations that made things easier for him.
That evening, I walked around my own house and checked the doors before bed.
It was something I had always done.
I tested the back door, looked at the garage lock, and switched off the lights in the kitchen.
Then I stopped beside Helen's photograph.
I thought about the way she had approached family problems.
She was generous, but she was not careless.
When somebody borrowed something from her, she expected them to return it.
When somebody made a promise, she expected them to keep it.
She didn't believe that love required pretending a mistake had never happened.
I had admired those qualities in her.
After she died, I had tried to make up for her absence by being more patient with Nathan.
I had given him more time.
More help.
More chances to get settled.
I had convinced myself that this was what a good father did.
Perhaps some of it was.
But I could see now that I had also been avoiding the discomfort of telling him no.
I had wanted to be the father who made things easier.
I had not considered what happened when making things easier became an expectation.
The next morning, I received a short message from Nathan.
He asked whether I would come to Cypress Creek that afternoon so we could talk.
I stared at it for a while.
Part of me wanted to go.
I wanted to stand in the dining room and hear the truth from him.
I wanted to look around the house and understand how my son could live there for five years while telling people a story that excluded me from the facts.
But I remembered Diane's advice.
I wasn't to make decisions about the property until the review was complete.
I replied that I would speak with him after my attorney had finished checking the records.
Nathan called almost immediately.
I answered.
"Why won't you just talk to me?"
"I have talked to you."
"Not in person."
"That won't change what happened."
He sighed.
"I need you to understand how much pressure I've been under."
"I understand that you've been under pressure. I don't understand why you decided to lie about my property."
"I've already explained that."
"You've explained why you wanted your in-laws to think you were successful. You haven't explained anything about the questions Diane is checking."
He became quiet.
I waited.
Then I asked, "Is there something involving the house that you haven't told me?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
I wanted to believe it.
But Claire's hesitation remained in my mind.
I asked the question again, more slowly.
"Nathan, is there any document, arrangement, or discussion involving Cypress Creek that I don't know about?"
He took a breath.
"Not that you need to worry about."
I stared at the wall.
That was not the same as saying no.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're making this bigger than it needs to be."
I felt a coldness settle in my chest.
"I didn't make this bigger. I found out you had been telling people you were buying my house."
"I know."
"And now my attorney has questions about the property."
"I know that, too."
"Then stop telling me not to worry and tell me what happened."
He didn't answer.
Finally, he said he needed more time.
I ended the call.
I sat quietly for several minutes.
I was beginning to understand why every conversation with Nathan left me feeling as though I had missed something.
He gave me just enough information to explain the part I already knew.
Then he stopped before reaching whatever came next.
I had let that pattern continue for years because I wanted to believe the best about him.
I could no longer afford to treat silence as reassurance.
Later that day, Diane sent me a brief email asking me to bring in any additional correspondence from Nathan or Claire.
I forwarded the messages I had received.
Then I returned to my notebook and added the date and time of my latest conversation with Nathan.
I didn't enjoy doing it.
But I did it anyway.
The house in Cypress Creek had once represented an opportunity I could give my son without expecting anything in return.
Now it represented a question I could not answer by trusting him.
I needed facts.
And I needed them before anyone made another decision about that property.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Diane Asked Me to Stop Treating the Problem Like a Family Argument, and I Finally Understood Why She Was Being So Careful
I Thought I Was Giving My Son a Fresh Start, Until He Made Me Stand Outside the House I Had Paid For
Part 7 of 12
