They Sold My House Without Asking
“We sold your empty house and split the money,” Mom declared at the family reunion. “You’re never even there.” Dad smirked. “Consider it your contribution to the family.” I checked my watch as U.S.
Marshals approached with seizure warrants. They had no idea what they’d actually sold. My name is Sarah Mitchell.
I’m thirty-four years old, and I’ve been a Deputy U.S. Marshal for four years. Before that, I served six years in the Army, including two deployments to Afghanistan.
I don’t talk about my work much—can’t, really. Most of what I do is classified or sensitive. My family knows I work for “the government” and that I “travel a lot for security stuff.” They’ve never asked for details, and I’ve never offered them.
The text came through at 2:17 a.m. on a Tuesday while I was on assignment in Seattle, providing courthouse security for a high-profile terrorism trial. Mom: Finally did something about that house of yours.
You’re welcome. I stared at the message on my phone, lying in the darkness of my hotel room near the federal courthouse. The blue light illuminated my face as I tried to make sense of those words.
That house of mine. My house in Alexandria, Virginia. The three-bedroom colonial I’d purchased two years ago for $1.2 million, using most of my savings and my VA loan.
The property I’d carefully selected because it was fifteen minutes from the federal courthouse in Alexandria, twenty minutes from my office at the U.S. Marshal Service headquarters in Arlington, and in a quiet, secure neighborhood perfect for my needs. My fingers moved almost automatically.
Me: What do you mean, did something about it? The response came back immediately. She was clearly awake, probably expecting this conversation.
Mom: Sold it! You were never there anyway, always traveling for that job of yours. The house was just sitting empty, wasting money.
We got $850,000 cash. Your father and I split it with Rachel for her wedding expenses. You can thank us at the reunion next week!
It’s so much better this way. No more worrying about that empty house. I sat up so fast I nearly dropped my phone.
My heart was pounding, my hands suddenly cold despite the warm hotel room. Me: You sold my house? MY house?
Mom: Don’t be so dramatic, Sarah. We have your power of attorney from when you were overseas. We used it to handle the paperwork.
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