The Year of the Move, Pt. 2

Last time, I told you a little about the situation that got us into the mess that would be 2013. I’ve had the bomb dropped on me that I will be moving before the year is out, voluntarily or otherwise, and I will have very little choice but to go wherever I am told. It has been a couple months, though, and we are no closer to either selling or buying. The only moving we are doing is sinking deeper.

Escape Velocity

Jump ahead to March. The unthinkable happens: a freak medical emergency sends the Overlord into surgery. Multiple strokes and ten days in a coma later, she dies.

Life just got rather more complicated. Both halves of the Hive Mind and the Scapegoat are co-trustees of the Overlord’s family trust. Theft of documents, lies and accusations, and the hiring of lawyers ensues. The Hive Mind stays for a few months, takes whatever belongings they want, and then pisses off back home to another state. Now it is summer. The property has been listed for months with no offers, no serious interest.

More accusations fly. More vitriol and stupidity. The Hive Mind tries to get out of repaying me the loan I made in 2012 to the Overlord for the new well, without which the property is worthless.

(I took out a loan against my one big asset, the birthright my mother created for me as a baby, to get the money for the Overlord. If you ever wondered why, exactly, I trade favors for book editing and do all my own layouts and cover art, this is why: The money that should have gone to starting my business went to bailing out the Overlord.)

The Hive Mind tries to get out of paying taxes. The Hive Mind tries to get out of paying the fees for any professional who has the misfortune of working with this sack of feral cats. The Hive Mind implies the Scapegoat and I, by not paying all of the Overlord’s expenses, caused her death. The Hive Mind officially goes so far off the rails, their own lawyer appears to regret working with them. (She sends a slightly terrified-sounding email explaining that, oh, no, her clients totally consent to have the taxes paid, please don’t actually fuck with the IRS, despite the email the Hive Mind just sent that said, in summary, “fuck no, never pay anything ever, tell the IRS to fuck off.” It would be funny, except no.) Keep in mind, none of this is their money. This is the Overlord’s family trust’s money. Oh, but one half of the Hive Mind will inherit from whatever is left over, so of course they’ve had it earmarked since before the Overlord even died. (We will find out later they have finally, after many years of wanting to, built their dream house on their river-front property. One guess why they wanted that trust money so badly.)

Meanwhile, we are still told to look grateful. We are informed by an old friend (“friend”) that the Overlord paid for everything in the history of ever. Feed. Training. Utilities. Oh, apparently, the Overlord paid for my whole education. I wish someone had told that to the Department of Education, since I seem to have a lot of student loans for someone whose education was paid for by a fairy godmother.

We are told that our existence, our insistence on not selling our own belongings along with the property, our stubborn inability to teleport all of the horses and belongings off the property the moment a theoretical escrow closes–all of these things mean that we are destroying the value of the property. It is our fault it hasn’t sold yet. Everyone is making so many concessions for our sake.

We aren’t even allowed to ask for extra time after close of escrow to move, when an offer finally comes in for the first time. The Hive Mind tells the agent to ask only for a longer escrow (which does no good because where is the money?) and informs us after doing so that our needs would kill the deal. (It is supposed to be a unanimous decision, when there are deals to be made. The Hive Mind doesn’t care about silly rules like that, though. They can tell the agent whatever they want. Oh, you talked to the agent too? Hey, Scapegoat, that was totes illegal, you’re super awful, go sit in the corner. Yeah…)

At last, something goes right: An acquaintance in the area makes an offer and a final price is reached. On their own initiative, the buyer offers the three of us extra time after close of escrow to move. There are hiccups, to be sure, as a last-minute loan is acquired and pest treatments are done and paperwork is signed, resigned, amended, and signed some more. But sale is imminent. The price is a little low, but we can live with it. Things are looking up.

Sort of. Because, as it turns out, having your entire world upended can be kind of rough on your mental health.

To Be Continued…

Published by Joyce Sully

Joyce Sully believes in magic and dragons and ghosts, but is not convinced her next-door neighbors are real. So she writes stories. Really, what else could she do?

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