Some insisted they had only come for a birthday party.
Others said Teresa had invited them and told them she owned the home.
One aunt quietly placed her plate on the edge of the driveway and stepped away from my mother.
Teresa rushed toward the arriving cruiser before it had fully stopped.
She waved both arms and shouted that I was threatening her.
She said the house belonged to her.
She claimed I had arrived unexpectedly, frightened the guests, and tried to remove her grandson without permission.
The nearest officer stepped out and asked everyone to keep their distance.
Another officer approached the car after hearing that a sick child was inside.
I pointed toward Amy and explained that an ambulance was on the way.
Teresa kept interrupting.
“This is my property,” she insisted. “My son has no right to throw me out.”
The officer asked whether she had identification or documents proving ownership.
“Yes,” she said immediately.
The confidence in her answer made me look toward the house.
At that exact moment, the front door opened.
Mason stepped outside with a thick folder hidden beneath his jacket.
He tried to move behind two relatives standing near the porch, but the folder was too large to conceal completely.
One corner struck his elbow and slid into view.
I unlocked the hidden HOME folder on my phone and opened the scanned deed.
The image showed my name and Amy’s name clearly.
I walked toward the nearest officer and held out the screen.
“This is the deed,” I said. “The original was kept inside the house.”
The officer studied the scan.
Then his gaze shifted past me.
Mason had reached the bottom porch step.
The thick folder was still tucked under his jacket, and one of his hands was pressed against it as if he were trying to keep the contents from slipping out.
The officer looked from the deed on my screen to the folder beneath Mason’s coat.
“Sir,” he said, turning toward my cousin, “take your hands out where I can see them.”
See more on the next page
