Chapter 3 - The Cold Battle Begins
The morning after the funeral, the doorbell rang at precisely eight o'clock.
I opened the door to find Charles standing on my porch. He had traded his funeral suit for an expensive cashmere sweater and designer jeans. Beside him stood a sharp-faced man in an immaculate grey suit carrying a leather briefcase—Arthur Vance, one of the most expensive high-stakes probate attorneys in the state.
Vanessa was sitting in the silver Audi parked at the curb, applying lip gloss in the side mirror.
"Morning, Thomas," Charles said, his voice smooth, completely lacking any trace of grief. "I came to pick up Sarah's personal belongings. Her jewelry, her laptop, and the key to the master safe at our old house. Also, Mr. Vance here has some paperwork for you to sign regarding temporary custody of the girls."
I stood in the doorway, blocking his entry. I kept my face entirely impassive, though every instinct inside me wanted to grab him by the throat.
"Temporary custody?" I asked quietly.
The lawyer, Vance, stepped forward, offering a professional, cold smile. "Mr. Miller, as your son-in-law undergoes this transition period, he believes it is in the best emotional interest of Lily, Maya, and Chloe to remain with you for sixty days. During this time, Charles will cover a modest allowance for their food and care. In exchange, we need you to sign this guardianship waiver, granting Charles sole authority over Sarah’s estate, liquid assets, and any outstanding insurance claims."
I looked at the document Vance held out. It was a complete surrender of my granddaughters' rights to their mother's inheritance. If I signed it, Charles would have total control of every penny Sarah owned, while dumping the daily burden of raising three children onto me.
"And if I don't sign it?" I asked, looking Charles dead in the eye.
Charles chuckled, stepping closer. His tone dropped its polite veneer, revealing the slick, ruthless predator beneath.
"Don't play games with me, Thomas," he sneered softly. "You’re a retired high school history teacher living on a fixed pension. You can't afford a legal fight against me. If you don't sign that paper, I will take the girls away today, place them in a boarding school in Connecticut, and you’ll never see them again. Sign the paper, take the monthly stipend, and enjoy your golden years with your granddaughters."
My stomach turned. He was using his own daughters as human bargaining chips.
"The girls are sleeping," I said calmly. "I'm not signing anything today, Charles. Leave your lawyer's card. My legal representative will contact him."
Charles smirked, pulling off his sunglasses. "Your legal representative? Who are you going to hire, Thomas? Some small-town strip-mall attorney? You have forty-eight hours. If that paper isn't signed by Thursday noon, I’m coming back with the sheriff to pull those girls out of your house."
He turned on his heel and walked down the steps toward Vanessa's car.
May you like
I watched him go, then pulled out my phone. I dialed a number I hadn't called in ten years—a number belonging to Evelyn Kane, my former student who had grown up to become one of the most ruthless criminal prosecutors and civil trial attorneys in the state.
"Evelyn," I said when she answered. "This is Thomas Miller. My daughter was murdered... and I need you to tear a man to pieces."
