Harold looked.
His expression changed.
Eleanor noticed immediately.
The owner named on the page was:
MARGARET BELL.
Eleanor leaned closer.
“Margaret owns that land?”
Marcus nodded.
“According to every legitimate deed I’ve found, yes.”
Harold sat back.
“That is an old document.”
“I expected you to say that.”
Marcus produced another.
“This was recorded six years ago.”
Harold studied it.
“Still outdated.”
Marcus placed down the most recent certified county copy.
“Recorded eight months ago.”
Margaret Bell.
Again.
Harold’s face lost color.
Eleanor looked between them.
“But Bellwood maintains the orchard.”
Marcus nodded.
“And according to HOA financial statements, Bellwood has also treated the land as an association asset.”
Harold said quickly:
“Margaret transferred operational control years ago.”
“Show me the agreement.”
“It was private.”
“Show me.”
“I don't have it here.”
Marcus leaned back.
“I've been asking for six weeks.”
Harold said nothing.
Marcus continued.
“You also entered into a preliminary sale agreement involving part of that parcel.”
“That is confidential.”
“Not from the actual owner.”
Harold’s eyes hardened.
“You represent Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“To stop Bellwood from selling land it does not own.”
Harold stared at him.
Marcus added:
“And to determine who altered the title summaries distributed to residents.”
Harold stood.
“I think this meeting is finished.”
Marcus calmly closed the folder.
“That’s fine.”
Harold visibly relaxed.
Then Marcus said:
“The county investigator arrives tomorrow morning.”
Harold froze.
Eleanor looked at Marcus.
“County investigator?”
“Yes.”
Harold’s voice became quieter.
“What did you report?”
“Potential falsification of property records.”
“You have no evidence of fraud.”
Marcus lifted the certified deed.
“I have enough to ask questions.”
Harold stared.
Marcus stood.
“So should you.”
Chapter Three: Margaret Bell
Margaret Bell lived in the oldest surviving house connected to Bellwood Estates.
Technically, it sat beyond the newest subdivision boundary.
Historically, everything around it had belonged to her family.
Her house looked almost defiant beside the newer architecture.
Original brick.
Wood-framed windows.
A porch that dipped slightly near one column.
A garden allowed to grow past the point Bellwood’s landscaping committee would ever tolerate.
Marcus arrived at six.
Eleanor came with him.
Margaret opened the door.
“You’re late.”
Marcus checked his watch.
“Two minutes.”
“I’m eighty-three.”
She looked at Eleanor.
“Two minutes matters.”
Eleanor almost smiled.
Margaret knew her immediately.
“Eleanor Price.”
“You know me?”
Margaret stepped aside.
“I knew your name before you learned Bellwood had an orchard.”
That embarrassed Eleanor enough to make Marcus hide a smile.
Inside, old photographs covered the walls.
Fields.
Apple trees.
A farmhouse.
Men digging trenches.
Children running beneath trees where luxury homes now stood.
Eleanor stopped at one photograph.
“That’s the clubhouse?”
Margaret nodded.
“Before it became one.”
The structure in the picture looked more industrial than recreational.
Marcus noticed.
“What was it?”
“Maintenance building.”
“For the orchard?”
Margaret looked toward him.
“That’s what people said.”
They sat in the kitchen.
Margaret poured tea.
Marcus opened his folder.