Chapter 68 - The Retreat to the Shadows
Sheriff Vance did not take the key. His hand slowly moved away from his holster, though his expression remained hard as flint. He was a man accustomed to having total control over his domain, and the realization that there was a legal snare hidden beneath the trap he had sprung shook him to his core.
"You're very clever, Evelyn," Vance said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet growl. "You always were. Even when Donald was parading around the country club acting like the lord of the manor, everybody knew it was you who kept the books balanced and the family out of bankruptcy court."
"Donald was a weak man who hid behind expensive suits," I said coldly. "Just like my son Richard. And just like Tyler. Men in this family have always mistaken cruelty for strength. But I am not a Mercer by blood, Thomas. I am an outsider who survived fifty years in this house. You will not dislodge me with an expired writ and an old county grudge."
Vance picked up his wide-brimmed hat from the desk, turning it slowly in his hands. "The diocesan trust doesn't invalidate the reversionary deed, Evelyn. It complicates it. It ties it up in chancery court for five years. But during those five years, you won't have the income from the timber leases. You won't have access to the frozen accounts. Richard's creditors will descend on this property like locusts, and the state will put a padlock on the front gates while the lawyers pick your bones clean."
"Then we will sit in the cold together, Thomas," I replied without flinching. "Because I would rather see this house sold for scrap by the Catholic Church than hand the keys to a man who used my grandson's sickness to settle a score from 1912."
Vance stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he placed his hat back on his head and pulled the brim down low over his eyes.
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"Five o'clock tomorrow evening, Evelyn," he said, turning toward the study door. "I will have the county title office pull the Baltimore deeds from the microfiche archives. If that receipt is a fabrication—if that endowment has a single loophole—I won't come back with paper. I will come back with a transport van, and you will leave Mercer Manor in the back of it."
He walked out into the grand hallway. His boots echoed loudly against the marble as he crossed the foyer, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him with a final, ominous thud.
