Chapter 7 - The Seattle Summons
The formal certified envelope arrived forty-eight hours later, delivered not by standard post, but by a process server who walked up the beach trail in an ill-fitting navy suit.
I sat at the kitchen island with Marcus, the remains of breakfast sitting cold between us. The legal document was eighty pages of dense, combative jargon: Troy Vance and Arthur Vance v. Amelia Vance and The James Vance Architectural Trust.
Marcus adjusted his reading glasses, his jaw clenched as he scanned the petition. "They're alleging undue influence during probate in Munich. They’re claiming that because James’s terminal symptoms manifested abruptly, his legal capacity was impaired when he designated the trust as sole beneficiary. They’re demanding a full judicial freeze on all liquidated assets, including this coastal parcel."
"It's frivolous," I whispered, pressing my thumb against the cool titanium band hanging against my throat. "The German authorities verified his testamentary capacity with three separate physicians before the paperwork cleared the consulate."
"Of course it's frivolous," Marcus agreed, setting the paperwork down with a sharp smack. "In Oregon, this wouldn't survive a preliminary motion to dismiss. But that’s not what they want. Look at the attorney's firm on the letterhead: Sterling & Cross, Media Litigators. They aren't trying to win in a courtroom, Amelia. They want discovery. They want to drag you into public depositions, bleed you on legal fees, and embarrass you until you offer a seven-figure settlement just to make them go away."
My phone buzzed against the marble island. A notification flashed from an old local news app I had forgotten to delete.
VIRAL DRAMA CONTINUES: Brother of Oregon Fire Survivor Speaks Out in Exclusive Podcast Interview.
I clicked the link. Troy’s voice spilled out of the tiny speaker, trembling with practiced, cinematic sorrow.
"...I made a thoughtless remark on text while under immense corporate stress," Troy told the interviewer, his tone dripping with remorse. "A terrible mistake, yes. But does one bad text justify an older sister abandoning her elderly parents to poverty? Does it justify taking five million dollars in family-backed investments and hiding in a luxury coastal compound while our father’s health fails? My mother has heart palpitations every night. We just want Amelia to come to the table. We want healing. But she won't even look at us."
The comments beneath the episode were already multiplying by hundreds per hour.
“Wait, so she took all the husband's money and left her elderly parents homeless?”“The news story only showed half the texts. Always two sides to a story.”“Family is family. You don’t let your mom starve over a missed ride from the airport.”
A cold sweat broke across my palms. The narrative was slipping. Eighteen months ago, the raw truth of that burning house had broken through their lies like lightning in the dark. But the internet has no memory; it only craves fresh blood and sensational villainy.
"They're weaponizing public sympathy," Marcus said quietly. "Troy knows he can't win a lawsuit, but if he ruins the residency program's reputation before our first cohort of young architects arrives next month, your donors and grant partners will pull out to avoid controversy."
I stood up and walked to the panoramic window facing the ocean. The tide was coming in, grey and relentless, churning white foam against the jagged basalt pillars of the shore.
Eighteen months ago, I was a helpless victim pulled through a shattered window. I had let others speak for me, let news anchors defend me, let the fire dictate what remained of my life.
"No," I said, turning back toward Marcus. My voice didn't waver. "Call Eleanor."
Eleanor Vance wasn't on our side of the family. She was James’s older sister—a fierce, razor-sharp corporate attorney who lived in Chicago and had spent twenty years auditing fraudulent estates. When James died, Eleanor had stayed out of the public spectacle, honoring her brother's quiet nature.
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"Are you sure?" Marcus asked softly. "Eleanor has been furious about the fire since day one."
"I’m sure," I said, locking my phone. "If they want discovery, we are going to give them an open vault."
