Chapter 5 - The Lemon Frosting Legacy
Cole’s breath hitched. He looked from Mateo to the yellowed deed resting at the top of the box.
I reached in and lifted the parchment. At the bottom, clear as day, was Henry Mercer’s authentic, shaky signature from 1999, notarized by the Carteret County Clerk, creating a perpetual trust for the benefit of Mateo Alvarez and his legal heir: *Elena Alvarez.*
"You knew," Cole whispered, turning his gaze back to Lydia. His eyes burned with an agonizing blend of sorrow and fury. "All these years... you told me grandfather lost that land in bad timber investments. You told me the Alvarez family were squatter fishermen who refused to leave our waterfront."
"They *are* squatters!" Lydia spat, her composure fracturing into outright hysteria. The veneer of the southern matriarch was stripping away, revealing the rabid, cornered animal underneath. "Henry was an old, sentimental fool whose mind was rotting away! He wanted to give away the crown jewel of our estate to a deckhand because a woman died in a storm! It was an open maritime harbor! People die at sea, Cole! That’s the cost of doing business!"
"She wasn't just 'a woman'!" I roared, taking two steps toward Lydia until she shrank back against the leather chair. "She was my mother! I was six years old when they pulled her body out of the sound! And while my dad worked twelve-hour shifts at the docks to pay off funeral debts, you took her settlement, forged a secondary deed, and used it as collateral to buy your mansions, your country club memberships, and your imported German sports cars!"
I wiped an imaginary smear of lemon frosting from my cheek with the back of my hand, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"You called me a gold digger tonight, Lydia. You wanted everyone to think I was a common parasite latching onto your son’s fortune. But the truth is, every single cent of the Mercer fortune you’ve been parading around Richmond for the last two decades was stolen from my family's cemetery plot."
Lydia’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. She looked desperately to Vance. "Vance! Do something! You're my attorney! Destroy those papers! Call security! You're an equity partner in this firm, Vance—tell them this is extortion!"
Vance was staring at the second document I had pulled from the box. He didn't move. He didn't even blink.
"Vance?" Lydia screeched.
"Lydia..." Vance muttered, his voice cracking like dry kindling. "Where did you put the original power of attorney from 2007?"
"I gave it to you!"
"No," Vance said, his hand trembling as he adjusted his glasses. "You gave me a copy. You said the original was filed at the county courthouse. But this..." Vance pointed a shaking finger at the document in my hands. "...this is a revocation of power of attorney, signed by Henry Mercer and witnessed by two physicians at Duke Medical Center forty-eight hours before he passed."
I unfolded the document, exposing the bright blue hospital seal.
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"Henry knew what she was doing," Cole murmured, looking at his grandfather's handwriting. "He knew."
"He didn't just know, Cole," I said, reaching into the box and pulling out the micro-cassette recorder Henry had kept beside his bed. "He recorded it all."
