"Did the rental company ever contact me?"
"No."
"Did you tell them I was the owner?"
He sounded defensive.
"They knew it was a family property."
"That isn't what I asked."
"Mom, I signed as the person coordinating it."
I looked at the signature again.
"Coordinating something doesn't give you the authority to promise property you don't own."
His voice cracked.
"I know that now."
I wanted to believe him.
But the seven children and fourteen adults who had occupied my bedrooms only hours earlier suggested otherwise.
I asked him one more question.
"Why did Megan invite all those people this weekend?"
He hesitated again.
"She wanted them to see how well the cottage could accommodate a group."
I felt cold all over.
The gathering hadn't merely been an inconsiderate family weekend.
It had also been an informal demonstration of what they hoped the house could become.
"Did your guests know that?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"Megan told some relatives we were exploring a vacation rental business."
I looked toward Henry's mug on the table.
My son had used a family celebration to test a business idea involving my home, without permission from the person who owned it.
I suddenly remembered Megan's insistence that nobody move bedrooms.
She hadn't wanted the arrangement disrupted.
She had wanted twenty-one people to see the cottage operating exactly as she envisioned.
The next morning, I called Mr. Collins.
He listened carefully while I described the email and forwarded the documents to his office.
He explained that the agreement required closer examination.
Robert's signature alone did not transfer ownership or establish that he had authority to rent out my property.
Any obligations Robert had undertaken, however, needed to be addressed directly.
Mr. Collins advised me not to make assumptions about potential financial consequences before reviewing the full correspondence.
He also recommended a written notice to the rental manager identifying me as the sole owner and expressly denying authorization for any bookings or renovations.
I agreed.
"There's something else," I told him.
"Megan mentioned rental income months before this happened."
He asked me to explain.
I described the conversation about tearing down the sunroom and Robert's increasing questions about insurance, property values, and maintenance costs.
Mr. Collins paused.
"Do you have all the attachments Robert received?"
"I have what he forwarded."
"Ask him whether there are any other schedules, messages, or reservation records."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because we need to know whether the arrangement remained a proposal or whether someone already promised future dates."
I thanked him and immediately called Robert.
He answered quickly.
"Mom, did the attorney say everything was okay?"
"He needs all the documents."
"I sent them."
"All of them?"
Robert didn't answer.
I heard him speak quietly to Megan.
Then she took the phone.
"Eleanor, you're making this much more complicated than necessary."
"Have you promised anyone future access to my house?"
She sighed.
"We were building interest."
"Did you accept reservations?"
"Not personally."
That answer made me uneasy.
"What does 'not personally' mean?"
She sounded irritated.
"The manager handled inquiries."
"Did anyone pay money?"
There was a long pause.
Finally, Megan said, "Some people put down deposits to reserve dates."
I gripped the telephone.
"Dates in my house?"
"Robert said the property would eventually be available."
I felt my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.
"How many reservations?"
She said nothing.
"Megan, how many people have been promised my cottage?"
Her voice sharpened.
"You're not listening to the bigger picture."
I heard Robert protesting in the background.
Then another email appeared on my screen.
It was from him.
The subject line read FUTURE BOOKING SCHEDULE.
I opened the attachment and discovered that the cottage had been listed for multiple summer weeks.
Beside several dates were payment confirmations and guest names.
At the bottom, someone had written a note about owner access.
I leaned closer to read it.
"Owner's personal occupancy to be restricted during confirmed guest periods."
And beneath that was Robert's handwritten acknowledgment.
"Agreed."
My Son Gave Twenty-One Strangers My Beach House And Told Me To Leave—Then I Discovered What He Signed Behind My Back 056
The word "Agreed" stared at me from the screen like an accusation written in my own son's handwriting.
Robert had not simply explored renting the cottage.