So Nana kept me.
I learned to swim off that dock. I learned to steer her old fishing skiff, even though the engine sputtered and complained every time we started it. I learned how to sit in complete silence and not feel lonely.
“This place is our anchor,” she used to tell me. “No matter what happens, this is where we steady ourselves.”
I believed her.
And I promised her I would never let anyone cut that line.
After she passed, I handled everything carefully. I paid the property taxes early. I hired a local caretaker named Luis to check the place once a week. I installed a simple smart security system—nothing fancy, just cameras and alerts.
Most important, I followed the advice of Nana’s attorney.
Her lawyer, Denise Holloway, had helped Nana years ago when my parents tried to “borrow against” the property for one of their investment ideas. That situation had ended badly and left Nana shaken.
So she created the Maggie Carter Family Trust. I was named sole trustee. Denise made sure everything was properly recorded with the county.
There were specific protections in place. Layers. Barriers.
