Chapter 10: The Last Move
I didn't sleep well.
I lay in the dark and thought about what Evelyn would look for.
What she thought she could find.
In the morning I called Carol before seven.
"A private investigator named Strickland," I said.
"Evelyn's hired him."
A brief silence.
"How do you know?"
"Anonymous tip last night.
I don't know who."
"Could be Gerald's brother," Carol said.
"Could be someone else in the family who's had enough." She paused.
"It doesn't change our position.
If there's nothing to find, a PI finds nothing.
Is there anything she could use?"
"No."
"Then let her spend the money." Carol's voice was steady.
"But I want to move up our timeline.
I'm going to request an emergency hearing on the 2004 document.
Greer's attorney called this morning — he's agreed to cooperate in exchange for a written acknowledgment that we won't pursue civil action against him personally.
I've drafted the letter."
"Send it."
"I also want to file a formal complaint with the state bar about the cognitive incapacity claim.
The medical evidence Evelyn's attorney submitted is thin enough that filing the complaint will put pressure on them to withdraw it rather than defend it."
"Do it," I said.
I took Noah to school myself that morning.
We walked because the weather had cleared and he asked to, and on the way he held my hand and talked about a project he was doing about animals that live underground.
"Moles can dig fourteen feet in one day," he told me.
"That's a lot of digging."
"They do it to be safe," he said.
"So nothing can get them."
I looked down at him.
"Smart moles," I said.
He nodded, satisfied, and kept walking.
I came home to find Daniel sitting in the front room with an envelope in his hands.
He looked up when I came in.
"She sent this," he said.
"To me.
At my office." He held it out.
"I haven't opened it yet.
I wanted you here."
I sat down across from him.
He opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
A letter, handwritten, in Evelyn's careful script.
He read it.
His face changed as he read it — not dramatically, but the way a face changes when something confirms what you already suspected.
He handed it to me.
*Daniel,* it began.
*I am writing to you as your mother and as someone who has given her life to this family.
What is happening now is not about a house.
It is about who this family belongs to.
I need you to understand that if you continue to stand against me, I will have no choice but to tell the truth about the arrangement your father and I made before he passed.
The agreement we reached regarding the property in the event that the marriage failed.
He signed a document.
I have it.
Think carefully about what you want the next year of your life to look like.
I love you.
— Mother.*
I read it twice.
"What arrangement?" I asked.
Daniel shook his head slowly.
"There was no arrangement.
My father passed eight years ago.
Whatever document she's describing—"
"Is another forgery," I said.
He looked at me.
"Yes," he said.
"I think so."
I photographed the letter with my phone and sent it to Carol immediately.
Her response came in four minutes: *This is witness tampering and potentially extortion.
Do not respond to her.
I'm calling the DA's office this morning.*
I showed Daniel the message.
He read it.
Set the phone down on the cushion between us.
"She's not going to stop," he said.
"Not until something stops her."
"Something is going to stop her," I said.
"Carol is making sure of it."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For the dinner.
For not stopping her sooner.
For all the years I told myself she wasn't as bad as she seemed."
"You believed what you needed to believe," I said.
"About your mother."
"That's not an excuse."
"No," I said.
"It isn't.
But it's a reason." I looked at him.
"We'll figure out the rest later.
Right now I need you focused on what Carol needs from you."
He nodded.
"Whatever she needs," he said.
The hearing was scheduled for eleven days later.
Evelyn arrived with two attorneys.
She wore black, as if she were attending something solemn, and she sat at her side of the room without looking at me.
Philip Greer testified for forty minutes.
He brought the shoebox.
He read from the ledger.
He described the meeting in 2004, the cash payment, Evelyn's presence, the instructions he'd been given.
His voice shook slightly at first and then steadied.
Evelyn's attorney challenged him on every point.
His revoked license.
His self-interest.
The gap between 2004 and now.
Greer looked at the attorney calmly.
"I kept the ledger," he said, "because I knew this day would come.
I just didn't know how long I'd have to wait for it."
Gerald testified after him.
He described the signing of the final will.
My father's clarity.
His specific instructions.
The jokes he made.
The grandchildren he asked about.
Dr.
Marsh submitted her records in writing.
Three cognitive assessments.
All clear.
All dated.
All signed.
Ruth submitted the original deed.
May you like
Evelyn's attorney asked for a continuance.
The judge denied it.
