Chapter 29 - The Family Table Splits Again
The family meeting happened at Mom and Dad’s house.
Same dining room.
Same mahogany table.
Same chipped gravy boat sitting on the sideboard.
Different war.
Aunt Teddy read Camille’s evidence in silence.
Vaughn paced.
Raquel looked furious.
“This is ridiculous.”
I turned toward her.
“You read three pages.”
“I read enough. Some woman shows up after thirty years demanding millions because her mother supposedly had a handshake deal with Grandpa?”
“It’s signed.”
“A photocopy.”
Tobias tried to calm her.
“Raquel—”
“No. We finally get our family back, and now another drama addict wants attention.”
The words hit me hard.
Another drama addict.
Exactly the language she once used about me.
I looked at her.
She realized too late.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded familiar.”
Raquel flushed.
Dad sat at the head of the table.
He looked sick.
“This happened because of me.”
Mom touched his hand.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Everyone quieted.
“I knew Elise existed. I knew Dad destroyed something. I told myself it wasn’t my business.”
Aunt Teddy looked at him sharply.
“Cowardice is hereditary until somebody interrupts it.”
Dad nodded.
“I know.”
Vaughn stopped pacing.
“What assets are actually at risk?”
Dad looked toward me.
“The grandfather trust.”
My trust.
Matilda’s future.
Also portions of the contracting company Dad had sold years earlier.
Family property.
Investment accounts.
Potentially Mom and Dad’s home.
Raquel shot up.
“Our house too?”
“Maybe.”
“This is insane!”
Dad slammed his hand on the table.
“Sit down.”
Raquel stared.
Dad’s voice remained controlled.
“If my father stole from Elise, we pay what is owed.”
“Even if it destroys us?”
“If the alternative is living on stolen money?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
I had never been prouder of him.
Or more afraid.
Markson & Doyle, the estate law firm, sent two attorneys the next morning.
They reviewed everything.
One pointed to a clause in the 1987 agreement.
“This signature could be enforceable.”
“Could?”
“The statute of limitations is complicated because this involves an alleged concealed ownership interest and possible fraudulent transfer.”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“What are our options?”
“Fight.”
I hated how quickly the lawyer said it.
“Or?”
“Negotiate.”
“How much?”
“Potentially less than litigation exposure.”
I thought about Camille.
“She doesn’t only want money.”
The attorney glanced at me.
“Money is what courts resolve.”
That sentence bothered me.
Because our family had spent years learning that some debts couldn’t be measured that way.
After everyone left, Dad found me in the hallway.
Right where my old graduation photo once disappeared.
“What do you think I should do?”
It was the first time my father had asked instead of told.
“Find the truth.”
“And if the truth costs everything?”
I looked at Matilda sleeping against Mom’s shoulder.
“Then at least what’s left belongs to us honestly.”
Dad nodded.
Then the doorbell rang.
Camille stood outside.
But she wasn’t alone.
Beside her was a man in a dark suit.
May you like
He handed Dad an envelope.
“You’ve been served.”
