Chapter 7: The Lake House
The drive took two hours.
Gerald didn't talk much.
He answered what I asked and left the rest alone.
I was grateful for that.
We turned off the main road onto a gravel track I recognized before I could name it.
The trees on either side.
The way the light came through in the late morning.
The slight dip in the road before the clearing opened up.
The lake house.
I hadn't been here in three years.
Not since the funeral.
Gerald stopped the car.
I sat for a moment without moving.
"He left it to you outright," Gerald said.
"The transfer Ethan arranged — it named the lake house specifically.
But because your father's legitimate document predates it, and because the signature on Ethan's contract has already been flagged for forensic review, the transfer has no legal standing.
The house is yours.
It has always been yours."
I got out of the car.
The porch steps creaked the same way they always had.
The key was under the third plank from the left, where it had been since I was eight years old.
Inside, the house smelled like wood and old books and something faint I couldn't name but recognized immediately.
I stood in the doorway of the main room and didn't move for a long time.
Gerald came in behind me and set the folder on the kitchen table.
My phone rang.
The attorney Dennis had referred me to.
Her name was Sandra Okafor.
"Mrs.
Hartley," she said.
"I've reviewed the documents Gerald's office sent over.
I want to start with the good news."
"Please," I said.
"The forensic examiner I work with can have preliminary findings on the signature within ten days.
Based on what I'm seeing, I'm confident the forged document will be invalidated.
Your father's legitimate estate plan is solid.
Everything he intended to leave you is protected."
"And the bad news?"
"Ethan's attorney — his real one, not Pryce — filed a motion this morning to freeze your joint accounts pending a divorce proceeding.
You'll want to move any personal funds that are solely in your name before close of business today."
"I have a separate account," I said.
"I opened it six weeks ago."
A brief pause.
"You've been planning this carefully."
"I had help," I said.
I looked at Gerald, who was standing at the kitchen window looking out at the lake.
"My father had help.
And he made sure I would too."
"All right," Sandra said.
"I'll file a counter-motion this afternoon.
In the meantime, stay where you are.
Don't respond to any contact from Ethan or Barbara directly.
Everything goes through me."
"Understood."
"One more thing," Sandra said.
"Dennis Farrow has been building a case against Pryce and Cassel for eighteen months.
If you're willing to be a named complainant, it strengthens everything significantly.
But I want you to understand what that means.
It will be public.
It will take time.
And Ethan will fight it."
I walked to the window and stood beside Gerald.
The lake was flat and grey-green in the morning light.
My father had built the porch railing himself.
I could still see where he'd patched it one summer, the wood slightly lighter than the rest.
"I'm willing," I said.
"Good," Sandra said.
"I'll be in touch by end of day."
I put the phone down.
Gerald was still looking at the lake.
"He used to fish out there," I said.
"Every Saturday morning.
He'd be up before six.
I'd hear him in the kitchen making coffee and I'd pretend to still be asleep so I didn't have to bait the hook."
Gerald smiled.
"He told me that story."
"He did?"
"He said you always came out eventually.
Usually around eight.
You'd sit on the end of the dock and read, and he'd fish, and neither of you would say much."
"No," I said.
"We didn't need to."
I stood there for a moment longer.
Then my phone buzzed on the table.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*You think those documents protect you.
They don't.
Walk away from this now and we'll call it even.
Push further and you'll find out what Pryce is actually capable of.*
I screenshot it.
Forwarded it to Sandra.
Then to Dennis Farrow.
Dennis replied in under a minute.
*That's the third time he's done that to a witness.
Save everything.
Don't reply.*
I set the phone face-down on the table.
"Pryce just threatened me," I said.
Gerald turned from the window.
"By text?"
"Yes."
"Good," he said.
"That's evidence."
I almost laughed.
It surprised me — the feeling of it, rising up through everything else.
"My father would have said the same thing," I said.
May you like
"I know," Gerald said.
"I know he would."
