Chapter 5 - The Hart Family Summit
That evening, my phone—my new phone, with a prepaid number known only to Sarah and me—rang while I was unpacking my bags at the St. Claire.
It was an unknown number with a local area code. I let it go to voicemail. Two minutes later, it rang again. Then a text came through: *Nora, please. It’s Meredith. Mom wants to talk to you. Please pick up. This is getting out of hand.*
I stared at the screen for a long time before tapping the green accept button.
“Nora?” Patricia’s voice came through the speaker, crisp, commanding, and dripping with the haughty condescension of a woman who had never faced a real consequence in her seventy years of life. “It’s about time you answered.”
“Patricia,” I said, not bothering to use any familial honorifics. “If this is about Dean’s bank accounts, call his credit card company. I’m sure they miss him.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Don't take that tone with me, young lady. Dean made a mistake. Young men under pressure sometimes... well, they lose their tempers. But what you are doing now—freezing his business assets, threatening legal action—that is completely disproportionate. You are destroying our family name over a petty marital dispute.”
“A petty marital dispute,” I repeated slowly. “Your son hit me in front of thirteen people, Patricia. He brought his pregnant mistress to Thanksgiving dinner like she was a distant cousin from out of town. And you sat there and took a sip of your wine.”
“Kelsey is carrying a Hart grandchild!” Patricia snapped, her composure finally cracking under the weight of her own entitlement. “What was he supposed to do, throw her out on the street? Dean made a lapse in judgment, yes, but you humiliating him publicly and cutting off his livelihood goes too far. We expect you to come to the family office tomorrow morning and sign the paperwork to lift the freeze.”
I laughed. A cold, sharp sound that made the silence on the other end of the line stretch out like a chasm.
“Listen to me very carefully, Patricia,” I said, my voice steady and cold as steel. “Your son is facing charges of corporate fraud, asset dissipation, and domestic battery. Every single asset he tried to hide in your family trust is currently being audited by a forensic accountant. By the time I’m done with him, Dean won’t even be able to afford a cup of coffee at the diner down the street, let alone a high-rise condo for his new girlfriend.”
“You wouldn't dare,” Patricia hissed. “We are pillars of this community! People like you—people from your background—don't dictate terms to the Harts.”
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“My background?” I smiled faintly. “My father was a master carpenter who built houses twice as solid as the one you live in. But more importantly, Patricia... I am a lawyer. And your son just gave me the best case of my career.”
I hung up before she could reply.
