Instead, an older clerk named Donna helped me.
I gave her the parcel number.
She typed.
Then frowned.
“Who are you?”
“Rebecca Miller.”
She looked at me.
Then at the screen.
“This property is in a testamentary trust.”
I did not know what that meant.
She explained slowly.
My grandfather’s will had indeed left the eastern ridge parcel to me.
But because I had been a minor when he executed the original documents, a trust mechanism existed.
After his death, I had become the beneficiary.
Then something had happened.
No transfer was completed.
The land remained in the estate trust.
Taxes had been paid automatically from a small account.
I stared at her.
“For twenty-two years?”
“Yes.”
“Who was trustee?”
She searched.
“Original trustee was Harold Benson.”
I remembered him.
My grandfather’s attorney.
He had died.
“Successor trustee is listed as Cedar Valley Trust Services.”
My heart started racing.
