Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Clues
By eight o'clock the following morning, the humidity in Savannah was already rising like steam off a hot pavement.
Serena sat at a corner table inside a quiet cafe three blocks from her home, a cup of black coffee cooling in front of her. Sitting across from her was Evelyn Vance—no relation to Beatrice, despite the shared surname—her long-time real estate attorney and closest friend.
Evelyn reviewed the documents laid out on the table, her silver-framed glasses resting low on her nose.
"The title is immaculate, Serena," Evelyn said, sliding a page back across the wood. "Your father cleared the secondary mortgage back in 2014. The property transfer to you upon his passing was executed without a single flaw. Furthermore, the premarital agreement you had me draft before marrying Lucas explicitly excludes 412 Oglethorpe Avenue from any marital property division."
"I know," Serena said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "I don't need legal validation of my ownership, Evelyn. I know I own it. What I need is a clean, undeniable execution strategy."
Evelyn leaned back, her sharp blue eyes studying her friend carefully. "You're not just talking about telling Beatrice to pack her bags, are you?"
"Lucas has been encouraging her," Serena revealed, her voice dropping into a low, measured register. "He’s not just passive, Evelyn. I went through the household bank statements last night while they were sleeping."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Two months ago, Lucas opened a secondary line of credit under his sole name," Serena said, pulling a folded printout from her purse. "He listed 412 Oglethorpe Avenue as his primary asset on the application. He didn't put my name on the form, but he claimed he held sole ownership through inheritance."
Evelyn’s relaxed demeanor disappeared instantly. She snatched the document, reading through the tiny print with practiced speed. "This is bank fraud, Serena. If he submitted a false affidavit claiming title to a property he doesn't own to secure credit..."
"He used the money from that line of credit to pay off his mother’s back taxes from her old apartment," Serena interrupted cold-bloodedly. "And last week, he transferred fifteen thousand dollars into a contractor's account to start redesigning the ground floor parlor. He was planning to surprise his mother with a full renovation of my home while I was scheduled to be in Chicago next month for my corporate retreat."
Evelyn let out a low, disbelieving whistle. "He really thought he could just start tearing down walls in a historic registered property without your signature?"
"He thought I would come home, see it finished, throw a quiet fit, and then eventually accept it because the work was already done," Serena said. "Just like I accepted his mother staying for two years. Just like I accepted her moving my father’s portraits to the basement."
"So what's your move?" Evelyn asked, her eyes glittering with the fierce protective instinct of a veteran litigator.
"First," Serena said, "I file a formal notice of fraud with the credit lender, freezing the line of credit immediately. Second, I have you draft a formal notice to quit for Beatrice Vance, giving her precisely thirty days to vacate my premises."
"And Lucas?"
Serena looked out the cafe window at the oak trees draped in Spanish moss. "Lucas gets his chance to speak tonight. His mother invited half their family over for a 'casual weekend dinner' at his house. She didn't ask me. She simply left a note on the kitchen counter saying they needed the dining room cleared by six."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Evelyn’s face. "A family dinner, you say?"
"A family dinner," Serena confirmed. "And I intend to serve the main course myself."
Serena stood up, collecting her folder. She felt remarkably light. For months, she had felt like a ghost haunting her own heritage, walking quietly so as not to disturb the delicate egos of a man who couldn't stand his own insignificance and a mother who lived on stolen status.
When she walked back up the front steps of 412 Oglethorpe Avenue an hour later, she found Beatrice standing in the front yard, talking animatedly to Mr. Henderson, the elderly neighbor who lived across the street.
"Oh yes, Mr. Henderson!" Beatrice was saying loudly, waving a manicured hand toward the grand porch. "Lucas is thinking of painting the shutters navy blue next month. I told him green is far too old-fashioned for a man in his position!"
Mr. Henderson looked over Beatrice's shoulder and caught Serena’s eye. He gave a subtle, sympathetic nod. He had known Serena’s father for forty years.
May you like
Serena did not stop to interrupt. She simply walked up the steps, smiled pleasantly at Mr. Henderson, and murmured to herself as she unlocked her front door:
"Enjoy the green shutters while you can, Beatrice. You won't be here to see them painted."
