After hitting dead ends and growing tired of frivolous searches, I broke down and called that lawyer. I found his card I had taped to the inside of my notebook, figuring I’d have to make an appointment with him. I reached his secretary and gave my name. The reason for me calling. And just when I thought she’d rattle off his schedule to me, she told me to wait.
“Clinton Clarke?”
I paused. “Uh, yes?”
“I was wondering if I’d ever hear from you again. How are you?”
I was so shocked, I couldn't even remember the man’s name. “I’m good. I mean, well, I have a question. But, otherwise, I’m good.”
“Are you wanting me to answer that question for you?”
I sighed. “No, no. I just—I want to pick your brain a second.”
“About what?”
“I have a hypothetical for you.”
“Question for a friend. That kind of thing?”
“You could say that.”
“Got it. Shoot.”
“Let’s say there’s a house up for sale. Just went on the market. And there’s already a buyer.”
“Nice. That happens sometimes.”
I snickered. “Yeah. Anyway, the issue is that there are two people still living in the house. A high schooler of legal age and a woman.”
He paused. “Uh huh.”
“Yeah. And it’s assumed the woman is going to move when the house sells. But it’s not assumed the high schooler is going to move.”
“Okay?”
“What rights does that high schooler have? Can he—I mean—can this high schooler somehow stop the sale?”
“Does this high schooler want to?”
I snickered. “I mean, the high schooler won’t have anywhere to go.”
“So, this kid not going with the move isn’t a decision he’s made.”
I paused. “No. It isn’t.”
He clicked his tongue. “Clinton?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You want to drop the veil of pretense for a second and talk seriously?”
“That depends. Are you going to interject your services and make things worse?”
“Not unless you hire me. Otherwise, this is simply a phone consultation where I tell you the kind of rights you have and how I can help you.”
I sighed. “All right. Shoot.”
“Your father’s sold your house, but has he explicitly said to you that he doesn’t want you going with him?”