“Because I want to see what they do next.”
Two weeks later, my parents listed the Ballard townhouse for $1.35 million. It sold in nine days for $1.32 million.
They submitted an offer on the Queen Anne house through their agent. $3.5 million. All cash from the Ballard sale plus $2.18 million from their remaining savings.
David responded on behalf of Morgan Property Trust.
“Thank you for your offer. The property is not currently for sale. The trust has long-term plans for this asset and is not considering offers at this time.”
My parents were devastated.
“They won’t even negotiate,” Mom told me over the phone. “Just a flat no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We put all our plans into this. Now we’re back to square one.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. We have $1.32 million from the Ballard sale. We need to invest it somewhere that generates income.”
“Maybe talk to a financial adviser.”
“We are. But, Rebecca, we’re running out of options.”
Over the next three months, my parents spiraled. They bought another rental property, a condo in Renton for $625,000, and rented it for $2,400 a month. After expenses, they netted $1,200 monthly.
They increased their investment withdrawals, trying to make up the shortfall. Their savings dwindled. $580,000 became $450,000. Then $380,000.
By August 2024, Mom called another family meeting.
“We need to make a difficult decision,” she said.
We were back in her apartment. Caroline, James, me. Dad was still in the nursing facility, his condition stable but requiring constant care.
“We can’t sustain the current situation,” Mom continued. “We’re depleting savings too fast.”
“What are you proposing?” Caroline asked.
“We need to increase contributions from you three significantly.”
“How much?” James asked.
“We need another $4,000 per month total. Split between the three of you.”
Caroline and James exchanged glances.
“That’s $1,333 each,” James said.
“Actually,” Mom said quietly, “we were hoping Caroline and James could each contribute $1,500. And Rebecca could contribute $1,000.”
“Why less for Rebecca?” Caroline asked.
“She makes less than you two. We don’t want to burden her unfairly.”
I sat there silent. The daughter who made less. Who needed to be protected from financial burden while owning a $3.8 million property they’d once lived in.
“I can do $1,500,” Caroline said.
“Same,” James agreed.
“Rebecca?” Mom looked at me.
“I’ll do $1,000.”
“Thank you, all of you. This means everything.”
New monthly contributions: Caroline, $4,500 total. James, $4,000. Me, $2,000. Their shortfall was covered for now.
In November 2024, I received an email from my property management company.
“Rebecca, the tenants in the Queen Anne property gave notice. They’re relocating to Austin for work. Lease ends January 31, 2025.”
I called them.
“Any interest in renewing?”
“None. It’s a job relocation. Definite move.”
“Start marketing for new tenants.”
“Will do. Just so you know, the market is strong. We could probably get $7,200 now instead of $6,200.”
“Let’s list at $7,000. I’d rather rent it quickly.”
“Perfect.”
The property went on the market. Photos were posted online. Address visible.
Three days later, Mom called me.
“Rebecca, you’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“Our old house is for rent. I saw the listing online.”
“Really?”
“$7,000 a month. Can you imagine if we still owned it?”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“It is. We’d have enough income to cover your father’s care and then some.” She paused. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“What if we rented it?”
“Mom, you live in Bellevue.”
“I know, but what if we rented it and then immediately subleased it? We could rent it for $7,000 and sublease it for $7,500. Make $500 a month in arbitrage.”
“I don’t think landlords allow subleasing.”
“We could ask. Or better idea, what if we told the landlord we wanted to rent it long term, then approached them about buying it? You already tried that, but that was an anonymous offer. For tenants, we have a relationship. We could negotiate from inside.”
This was getting absurd.
“Mom, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s dishonest and risky and probably against the lease terms.”
“Rebecca, we’re desperate. Your father needs care we can barely afford. This house, our house, could solve everything.”
“It’s not your house anymore.”
“But it should be. We never should have sold it. It was a mistake.”
“You can’t undo the past.”
“Maybe we can. Maybe if we rent it, we can convince the owner to sell.”
“Mom…”
“I’m going to apply as a tenant. Just see what happens.”
She did.
Morgan Property Trust received a rental application from Alan Morgan. My mother applying to rent the house she’d sold four years ago. The house I owned.
My property manager called me.
“Rebecca, this is unusual.”
“I know. What do you want me to do?”
“Deny the application.”
“On what grounds?”
“Insufficient income. She only has Social Security and investment withdrawals. That doesn’t meet the income requirements of three times monthly rent.”
“That’s true. She’d need an income of $21,000 monthly. She only shows about $9,800.”
“Deny it professionally. Just say she doesn’t meet income requirements.”
“Done.”
Mom called me that evening crying.
“They rejected my application.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They said insufficient income. But, Rebecca, I was going to pay the full year upfront. $84,000. I have that. I could show them the money.”
“Maybe they have other applicants.”
“This is our house. We should be living in it, not strangers.”
“Mom, you sold it. You made that choice.”
“It was the wrong choice. Don’t you see? We should have kept it. We should have listened to the financial adviser from the beginning. We should have put it in a trust and rented it out.”
“You’re right. You should have.”
“So help me fix it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Talk to the landlord. Put in a good word. Something.”
“I don’t know the landlord.”
“You’re resourceful. You work in tech. You know people. Please, Rebecca, help me.”
I took a breath.
“Mom, I can’t help you buy a house you already sold.”
“Why not?”
“Because some decisions can’t be undone.”
She hung up on me.
Christmas 2024 was tense. We gathered at Mom’s apartment. Dad was there in a wheelchair, mostly nonverbal but aware. Caroline and James were cheerful, talking about their work, their lives, their success. I was quiet.
After dinner, Mom pulled me aside.
“Rebecca, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Okay.”
She led me to her bedroom and closed the door. On her bed were documents. Legal papers.
“What are these?” I asked.
“I’ve been working with an attorney, looking at options.”
“For what?”
“For the house.”
I went cold.
“Mom—”
“Let me finish. When we sold the house to Morgan Property Trust in 2020, we sold it in a clean sale. But we’ve been looking at the deed records. The trust was created the same day as our sale. Same day, Rebecca. So whoever bought our house created that trust specifically to buy it. This wasn’t some random investment company. This was someone who wanted our house specifically.”
“Lots of people create trusts for real estate.”
“We’ve been trying to figure out who’s behind the trust. It’s very private, very protected, but there are ways to find information.”
My heart was pounding.
“We hired a forensic investigator. Someone who specializes in uncovering beneficial owners of trusts and LLCs.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know who’s living in our house. Who took it from us.”
“No one took it from you. You sold it for $3.1 million.”
“It’s worth $3.8 million now. We left money on the table.”
“That’s not how sales work.”
“Rebecca, the investigator found something.”
She picked up a document and handed it to me. It was a report, financial forensics tracking the money from my parents’ sale through various accounts and entities.
And there, on page four, was my name.
The purchase funds originated from an account at First Seattle Bank. Account holder: Rebecca Morgan. Transferred to Morgan Property Trust, then used to purchase the property.
I stared at the document.
“You bought our house,” Mom said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were going to sell it anyway. I wanted to keep it in the family.”
“By lying to us?”
“I didn’t lie. You never asked who bought it.”
“This is unconscionable. You let us think we sold to strangers. You let us struggle financially while owning a property that could solve all our problems.”
“You sold it willingly for a fair price above asking. You’re my parents, which is why I paid you $3.1 million for a house worth $2.8 million. I gave you a gift. You just didn’t know it.”
Mom’s hands were shaking.
“We want it back.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Rebecca, please. Your father needs care. We’re running out of money. That house could save us.”
“You have the money from selling it. $3.1 million. That was supposed to fund your retirement.”
“We made mistakes. We didn’t plan for your father’s health issues, for the market downturn, for life.”
“You didn’t plan for life, and now you want me to fix it by giving you back an asset I purchased legally and fairly.”
“We’re your parents.”
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