Chapter 3: The Call That Should Not Have Happened
His name was Marcus Webb.
He was Evelyn's younger brother, and I had met him exactly once — at the wedding, where he had shaken my hand without looking at my face.
Now he was standing in the corner of the dining room, phone pressed to his ear, and the name on his screen had been my lawyer's name.
I crossed the room in four steps.
"Give me that phone."
Marcus pulled it back.
"This is a private call."
"That is my attorney you are calling." I held out my hand.
"Give it to me.
Now."
He looked past me to Evelyn.
She gave the smallest nod.
He handed it over.
I put it to my ear.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was not my lawyer.
It was a man I did not recognize.
He said three words before I ended the call.
*The papers are ready.*
I set the phone face-down on the table and turned to face the room.
"What papers?" I said.
Nobody answered.
Daniel had gotten back to his feet.
He was standing near the window, straightening his jacket, not looking at me.
"Daniel." My voice was flat.
"What papers?"
"You should sit down," he said.
"I am not sitting down.
What papers?"
Evelyn stepped forward.
The cold smile was back.
"The ones that contest the deed.
My son has grounds.
You were not legally residing in this country when that purchase was made.
We have documentation."
The room tilted slightly.
I steadied myself.
"That is not true."
"We have a copy of your visa status from that year." She folded her hands in front of her.
"Your immigration attorney made a filing error.
A significant one.
The deed may not be valid."
I looked at Daniel.
"You did this."
He finally turned from the window.
"I did what I had to do."
"You had your family investigate my immigration records."
"I had someone look into our legal situation, yes."
"Our son was on the floor twenty minutes ago." My voice did not shake.
I made sure of that.
"Your mother had her hand in his hair.
And your response was to call a lawyer about the deed."
"This is about protecting what's mine."
"He is four years old, Daniel."
"The house is what I'm talking about."
Noah had fallen asleep against my shoulder.
His cheek was warm.
I could feel his breath through my shirt.
I looked around the room — at the relatives still seated, at the broken plates on the floor, at Evelyn watching me with that patient, practiced expression.
"You planned this dinner," I said.
It was not a question.
Evelyn said nothing.
"You planned all of it.
The seating.
The leftovers.
Noah on the floor." I turned to Daniel.
"You knew what she was going to do."
"I didn't know she would—"
"Don't." The word came out harder than I intended.
"Don't finish that sentence unless it's the truth."
He closed his mouth.
Marcus reached for his phone from the table.
I put my hand on it first.
"I'll be keeping this," I said.
"Until I've spoken to my attorney."
"You can't—"
"Try me."
I picked up Noah more securely, tucked the legal folder under my arm, and walked toward the hallway.
Evelyn's voice followed me.
"You won't win this.
You don't have the resources we have.
You never did."
I stopped at the doorway.
I did not turn around.
"You just told me what you're afraid of," I said.
"Thank you for that."
I walked out.
The cold air hit my face the moment I stepped outside.
Noah stirred, mumbled something, pressed his face into my neck.
I sat in my car for two minutes before I called my attorney.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Someone from the Calloway family just tried to reach you," I said.
"From a number registered to Marcus Webb."
A pause.
"I received a call I didn't recognize.
I didn't answer."
"They're contesting the deed.
They're claiming a visa filing error from the year of purchase."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Claire," I said.
May you like
"Tell me that's not possible."
Her answer was not what I needed to hear.
