“We sold it for $3.1 million in 2020,” Mom continued. “It’s probably worth $3.8 million now. If we’d kept it and rented it out, we’d be earning about $6,000 a month in rental income. That would solve our shortfall.”
“But you sold it,” Caroline said.
“I know, but we’ve been thinking. What if we could buy it back?”
James leaned forward. “Who owns it now?”
“A trust. Morgan Property Trust. We’ve been trying to find out who’s behind it, but it’s a legal entity. Very private.”
“Have you reached out to them?” I asked. My voice was calm.
“We tried. Through our real estate agent. No response.”
“That’s frustrating,” Caroline said.
“It is, but here’s what we’re thinking. We have the Ballard townhouse. It’s worth about $1.3 million now. We could sell it, use that money plus some savings to make an offer on the Queen Anne house.”
“You think they’d sell?” James asked.
“Everyone has a price. If we offer enough…”
I sipped my water and said nothing.
“How much would you offer?” Caroline asked.
“Maybe $3.5 million. We’d have to take out a small mortgage, but the rental income would cover it and generate extra cash flow.”
James was nodding. “That could work. The Queen Anne house is bigger. Better rental market.”
Exactly.
They were planning to buy back the house they’d sold to me. The house I currently owned. The house I’d purchased from them for $3.1 million and had no intention of selling.
“What do you think, Rebecca?” Mom asked.
“I think you should do what’s best for your finances.”
“Would you be willing to contribute more monthly if we do this? Once the rental income starts, we wouldn’t need as much from you kids.”
“I’d consider it.”
The meeting ended with a plan. My parents would sell the Ballard townhouse, use the proceeds to make an offer on the Queen Anne house, and try to solve their financial crisis by buying back the property they’d sold to me four years ago.
I drove home in silence.
That night, I called my attorney, David Brennan.
“Rebecca, what can I do for you?”
“My parents want to buy back the house. The Queen Anne property.”
“Yes. They’re going to make an offer. Probably around $3.5 million.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to sell.”
“Then don’t. The trust is ironclad. You’re the sole beneficiary. No one can force you to sell.”
“They don’t know I own it.”
“Are you planning to tell them?”
I thought about it. About four years of silence. Four years of being the smallest contributor to their financial needs while actually being their largest benefactor. Four years of watching them assume I was less successful than my siblings.
“Not yet,” I said.
“So you’ll decline the offer through the trust. Make it look like an anonymous investor who’s not interested in selling.”
“I can do that. When they make the offer, I’ll respond professionally. Decline on behalf of the trust. Clean and simple.”
“Thank you.”
“Rebecca, can I ask why you’re not telling them?”
See more on the next page
“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.
ADVERTISEMENT
