Chapter 3

Corinne walked the eight blocks home through the rain because she had never owned a car, and because the cold on her face felt like a way of coming back to herself.

The apartment was a two-bedroom above a closed bakery on NE 28th, the rent frozen by a landlord who had known her father. She had lived there for eleven years, since the divorce, since the house in Lake Oswego went to Berta's son and the garden she had planted went back to dirt. The steps creaked. The mail slot rattled. The radiator in the bedroom clanked at three in the morning like a sewing machine.

She hung her damp cardigan on the back of a chair, put the wallet on the kitchen counter, and sat at the small table with a blank pad of paper in front of her.

In the day's mail, which she had not checked since the morning, there was a white envelope from the title company. She opened it with a butter knife.

The letter was three sentences long. "This confirms that escrow #44821 has cleared and the buyer of record has accepted the terms. The escrow file has been transferred to the buyer's counsel." At the bottom, a printed name she did not know and a phone number.

Outside, the rain beat against the kitchen window. Corinne read the letter twice, then folded it and put it in the drawer with the other papers: the death certificates, the lease, the copy of her father's will.

At 9:15 the next morning, her phone rang again.

She answered on the third ring, because she recognized the number this time — the Ashford family lawyer, a man named Keeler who had represented Berta for forty years.

"Mrs. Ashford," he said. "I'm calling about the escrow file."

"Good morning, Mr. Keeler."

"Regarding the property on Southeast Main—"

"The one my ex-husband purchased with wire funds that originated from the payoff of my father's 1998 loan, yes."

Keeler cleared his throat. "We believe there's been a clerical error. The escrow file appears to be opened under your name."

"Did you read the loan note, Mr. Keeler?"