Chapter 3 - The Lawsuit My Cousin Never Filed
Grant demanded the lawsuit be withdrawn.
Marcus Vane refused.
That told us something immediately.
Grant's signature had been electronically submitted.
But the engagement letter authorizing Marcus to represent him was dated six months earlier.
Grant swore he had never seen it.
“Then someone forged you too,” Arthur said.
Victoria sat near the fireplace as though none of this involved her.
Grant turned on her.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I protected you.”
“That's not an answer.”
She lifted her chin.
“You were raised to inherit Blackthorn.”
“No. You told me I would.”
“Same thing.”
Grant looked sick.
Chloe was worse.
She had spent her entire life believing her mother controlled reality through sheer confidence.
Watching Victoria lose control was like watching gravity malfunction.
Arthur examined the court filing.
The lawsuit alleged Grandpa suffered cognitive decline.
It cited physician visits.
Medication.
Confusion.
It also included affidavits from three household employees stating Grandpa often forgot names and dates.
I recognized two names.
People Victoria hired.
The third surprised me.
Margaret Collins.
Grandpa's housekeeper for twenty-two years.
“She wouldn't lie,” I said.
Arthur frowned.
“Let's ask.”
Margaret lived in a cottage on the eastern edge of the estate.
We found her packing.
“Margaret?”
She froze.
Suitcase open.
Clothes everywhere.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“I didn't have a choice.”
Victoria, who had followed us, scoffed.
“Don't be dramatic.”
Margaret flinched.
I looked at her.
“What happened?”
She handed Arthur a bank statement.
$75,000 deposited into her son's business account.
From Vane Consulting.
Marcus's firm.
“Bribe?” Grant asked.
Margaret shook her head.
“Threat.”
Her son had defaulted on a commercial loan.
Victoria learned.
She offered money if Margaret signed a statement.
“What was the threat?” I asked.
“She said if I refused, she'd make sure the bank accelerated everything.”
Victoria laughed.
“You accepted money.”
Arthur turned.
“Victoria, stop speaking.”
“Don't order me around.”
“Then obtain independent counsel immediately.”
She did not like that sentence.
Margaret cried.
“I never said Mr. Blackthorn lacked capacity.”
Arthur showed her affidavit.
She read it.
Her face went white.
“This isn't what I signed.”
“What did you sign?”
“A statement saying he sometimes needed medication reminders.”
The affidavit had been altered.
More forgery.
The lawsuit began looking less like a legitimate estate dispute and more like a criminal evidence file.
Marcus Vane stopped answering calls.
By evening, he had disappeared.
Then Arthur received another development.
A temporary restraining order.
Until ownership litigation was resolved, I could remain at Blackthorn Hall.
But I could not sell, mortgage, or materially alter the property.
Victoria smiled.
“At least the court has some sense.”
I ignored her.
Because something else had begun bothering me.
The anonymous messages.
Who sent them?
They knew about the portrait.
Grandpa's letter.
My mother's death.
Maybe they were helping me.
Maybe directing me.
That distinction mattered.
I responded for the first time.
WHO ARE YOU?
Three dots appeared.
Then:
SOMEONE WHO OWED YOUR MOTHER THE TRUTH.
WHO?
No response.
I tried again.
WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?
Message:
THE CAR DIDN'T FAIL.
My hands went cold.
I showed Arthur.
He read it twice.
“What do they mean?”
Another message arrived.
THE BRAKES WERE CUT.
Arthur looked at me.
I could barely breathe.
Then a photograph came through.
My mother's wrecked Mercedes.
Close-up of the undercarriage.
A severed brake line.
The timestamp was dated the day after her death.
I had never seen the image.
Arthur whispered, “Police said the crash was caused by wet pavement.”
“Who took this?”
Message:
ASK THE MAN WHO WAS THERE BEFORE THE POLICE.
Another photograph.
A younger man standing beside the wreck.
His face partially turned away.
Arthur inhaled sharply.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He enlarged the picture.
Then my stomach dropped.
Marcus Vane.
Victoria's attorney.
The same man who had just filed the forged lawsuit.
He had been at my mother's crash site fifteen years earlier.
May you like
Before the police.
And now he had vanished.
