Chapter 10 - The Lioness Awakes
The cherry liqueur sat untouched on the saucer. The medieval streets outside the café window suddenly looked sharper, the shadows longer.
For months, I had retreated. I had stepped back, walked away, chosen the peaceful path of silence and distance. I had allowed Cassie to dismiss me as a harmless old woman who existed only to serve.
She had mistaken my gentleness for weakness.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus Finch’s direct cell phone number. He answered before the first ring had finished.
"Diane. Did you get the packet?" Marcus asked, his tone brisk and lethal.
"I have it in front of me," I said, my voice dropping an octave, completely steady. "She wants the Raleigh house, Marcus."
"She’s desperate, Diane," Marcus scoffed with cold disgust. "Derek kicked her out three days ago. He found forty thousand dollars in hidden credit card debt, and when he threatened to report her for forging his name on the trust account, her attorney advised her to go on the offensive. She thinks that if she threatens your home, you'll force Derek to give her a massive cash settlement just to make her drop the claim."
"Does she really think I am that cowardly?" I asked.
"She thinks you're just a mother, Diane. She thinks mothers always fold to protect their sons from pain." Marcus paused, and I could hear the rustle of heavy parchment over the line. "What do you want to do? We can settle, give her fifteen thousand to walk away—"
"No," I cut him off.
The word was like iron striking granite.
"Not one penny, Marcus. Not one single red cent." I stood up from the café table, the legal papers held firmly in my hand. "Arthur worked forty years to pay off that mortgage. That house is where my husband took his last breath. That house belongs to me, and eventually, to my grandchildren—not to a parasite who mocked my family while stealing our names."
"Tell me what you need, Diane," Marcus said, and I could hear the fierce respect in the old lawyer's voice.
"I want you to pull every tax record, every maintenance receipt, and every bank transfer for the Raleigh house for the last eight years," I commanded. "Cassie claims Derek invested 'sweat equity'? Prove that every single property tax bill, every plumbing repair, and every gallon of paint was paid for out of my private personal account. Then, I want you to file a criminal complaint with the Mecklenburg County District Attorney for the forged signature on the trust transfer. Do not offer a plea. Do not offer a settlement."
"And what about Derek?" Marcus asked quietly. "He’s in rough shape, Diane. He’s staying in a cheap corporate apartment. He looks like a ghost."
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, picturing my boy—the boy who used to help me roll pie crusts on Sunday afternoons, the boy who had allowed vanity and weakness to blind him to cruelty.
May you like
"Derek made his bed with her, Marcus," I said. "Now he has to help strip the sheets. Tell him that if he wants to testify against her fraud, he can stand beside us. If he tries to protect her, he can find his own lawyer. I am done playing the martyr."
***
