“You’re emotional.
That’s understandable, but large properties require practical decisions.”
Behind him, Kyle closed his eyes.
Calvin continued.
“The house will probably need to be sold.
Tabitha and I may purchase it from the estate before it goes on the market.
That would preserve some continuity.”
The arrogance was breathtaking.
He planned to use a forged appointment as executor to control the sale, then buy my father’s house through the estate he had manipulated.
“You should leave,” I said.
Calvin stepped closer.
“Do not make tomorrow ugly, Paige.
Your father’s final wishes may hurt, but fighting them will only consume your share with legal fees.”
It was the same tactic he had used during our divorce.
Create fear.
Threaten expense.
Offer surrender as the only sensible choice.
This time, I knew what was inside Penelope’s briefcase.
“Get out.”
Penelope entered the hall with her phone in hand.
Calvin stopped smiling.
“Ms.
Ward.”
“Mr.
Mercer,” she replied.
“You are trespassing.
Officers are on the way.”
Kyle stared at her briefcase.
“Why are you here?”
“Everett was my client.
Paige is the lawful occupant of this house.
Neither of you has permission to enter.”
Calvin raised the key.
“I have permission.”
“A key is not permission.”
His confidence flickered, but only for a moment.
“We’ll settle all of this tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Penelope said.
“We will.”
Calvin left before the police arrived.
Kyle lingered near the door.
“Paige,” he whispered, “I didn’t know how far he would take it.”
I looked at the man who had shared my childhood, who had held my hand at our mother’s funeral, and who had copied our dying father’s signature.
“You went far enough.”
He flinched and followed Calvin outside.
The next morning, the will reading took place in Penelope’s conference room.
A long walnut table divided the family into two sides.
I sat beside Penelope.
Across from us were Calvin, Tabitha, Kyle, and a lawyer named Mr.
Danner.
Tabitha wore black, though she had not worn black to Dad’s funeral.
A slim leather folder rested before Calvin.
He touched it every few minutes.
Two representatives from Dad’s charitable foundation attended, along with Dr.
Mehta, the physician who had overseen his final months.
