Chapter 7: Vanessa's Last Move
The call came at eleven that night.
I was in the hotel room I had booked for the children — two adjoining rooms, Rose and Emma already asleep in one bed, the boys sprawled across the other with the television on low.
I was sitting at the small desk by the window with the estate documents spread in front of me when my phone lit up.
Grant.
I let it ring twice before I answered.
"She's threatening the children," he said.
No greeting.
His voice was controlled in the way that means the opposite.
I stood up.
"What did she do?"
"She called her attorney tonight.
She's filing for an emergency injunction.
She's claiming the children's presence at the funeral constitutes harassment and that you coached them to make false statements in a public setting." He stopped.
"She's trying to get a court order preventing you from bringing them back to Georgia."
"On what grounds?"
"She's saying the paternity documents are fraudulent.
She's saying you fabricated them to extort the estate." A pause.
"She found out about the trust."
I looked at the window.
The parking lot below was empty and orange under the lights.
"How did she find out about the trust?"
"She has a contact inside the law firm.
Someone who owed her a favor." His voice tightened.
"Reeve is dealing with it.
But Savannah — she's moving fast.
She filed the injunction paperwork at nine o'clock tonight.
Emergency hearing is Monday morning."
"Grant." I kept my voice even.
"Does she know about Curtis Beal?"
Silence.
"Grant."
"I don't think so," he said.
"Not yet."
"Then she's moving blind." I turned away from the window.
"She thinks the only evidence is what I brought to the cemetery.
She doesn't know what Reeve has."
"That's what I thought." He exhaled.
"Reeve needs to know about the injunction tonight.
He needs to be ready Monday."
"I'll call him now."
A pause.
Longer than the others.
"Savannah." His voice changed.
The attorney-mode dropped out of it.
"I owe you something I don't know how to say yet.
I know that.
I'm not asking for anything tonight.
I just—" He stopped.
"Ethan shook my hand before he got in the car.
He didn't have to do that."
I looked through the doorway at my oldest son, asleep now, one arm thrown over his face.
"No," I said.
"He didn't."
"He's a good kid."
"They're all good kids."
"I know." His voice was very quiet.
"I missed it.
I missed all of it.
I don't know how to—"
"Not tonight," I said.
Not unkindly.
"Tonight I need to call Reeve."
"Right." He steadied.
"Right.
Call me after."
I hung up and dialed Reeve.
He answered on the second ring.
He had already seen the filing.
"She made a mistake," he said.
"By filing tonight, she put herself on record claiming the documents are fraudulent.
When Curtis Beal testifies Monday, she won't be able to walk that back."
"She'll try to settle."
"She'll try," he agreed.
"We won't."
I looked at the documents on the desk.
At the photograph in my jacket pocket hanging on the chair back.
At my five children asleep in the next room.
"Reeve," I said.
"Is there anything she can do to stop this?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"She could disappear," he said.
"Leave Georgia, refuse to appear, drag it out for years." A pause.
"But she won't.
She's not built for retreat.
She'll show up Monday and she'll fight, because that's the only move she knows."
"Good," I said.
"Get some sleep, Ms.
Cole."
I looked at the window again.
At the orange light on the empty parking lot.
"I'll try," I said.
May you like
I didn't sleep.
But I was ready when Monday came.
