Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
By eight o'clock the following morning, my phone began vibrating continuously on the bedside table.
I sat in my armchair, sipping black coffee, watching the screen light up repeatedly. Vanessa Calling. Sylvia Calling. Daniel Calling. Vanessa Calling.
I didn't answer a single call. Instead, I called my attorney, Marcus Vance, a sharp, no-nonsense lawyer who had handled Arthur’s estate four years ago.
"Eleanor," Marcus answered on the second ring. "What's going on?"
"Marcus, I need you to review a forged contract signature and prepare a formal cease-and-desist notice," I said calmly. I explained the situation briefly, detailing the $95,000 withdrawal, the forged $40,000 invoice submitted by Sylvia, and the text message removing me from the family.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "Forging your signature on a commercial vendor contract is felony fraud, Eleanor. If Bellwether Gardens or the caterers try to enforce that addendum, Sylvia could be facing criminal charges."
"I'm not looking to put her in jail yet, Marcus," I said. "I just want to ensure my assets are completely protected. If any vendor attempts to charge my credit cards or pursue me for unpaid balances, I want you to step in immediately."
"Consider it done," Marcus replied. "I'll issue formal notices to every vendor on the original contract list by noon today."
Just as I hung up, a loud, aggressive knock echoed through my front door.
I set my coffee cup down, walked to the foyer, and looked through the glass panel. Standing on my porch was Sylvia, dressed in an expensive cream-colored suit, her face pale with rage. Beside her stood Vanessa, her eyes swollen from crying, clutching her designer purse like a weapon.
I unlocked the door and opened it, but I didn't step back to let them inside. I stood firmly in the doorway, blocking the entrance.
"Eleanor!" Sylvia barked, taking an aggressive step forward. "What is the meaning of this childish stunt?! Lauren called us an hour ago! She said the venue reservation has been frozen!"
"It isn't frozen, Sylvia," I said, my voice dead calm. "It’s canceled."
Vanessa let out a sharp, hysterical sob. "Eleanor, how could you do this to us?! My dress is custom-made! The cake is ordered! Everyone knows we're getting married at Bellwether Gardens!"
"Then I suggest you pull out your credit card and pay the forty-thousand-dollar balance required to re-open the booking," I replied, looking directly at Sylvia.
Sylvia’s face flushed a deep, blotchy red. "We don't have ninety-five thousand dollars sitting in a bank account! You promised to pay for this wedding! It was a gift!"
"Gifts are given to family, Sylvia," I said smoothly. "Vanessa made it very clear in writing two days ago that I am no longer part of your family. Since I am an outsider, I have decided not to finance an outsider's party."
Vanessa took a step forward, her hands shaking. "I was angry, Eleanor! I sent that text because my mother was putting pressure on me! You were being difficult about the photos and the seating chart!"
"I asked for one small photograph of my deceased husband on a memory table," I said, my gray eyes locking onto Vanessa's. "You called him a mood killer. You erased me from the guest list to give my seat to your cousin. And then your mother forged my signature on a forty-thousand-dollar upgrade."
Sylvia froze. The anger on her face suddenly faltered, replaced by a momentary flash of pure panic. "I... I didn't forge anything! I had verbal authorization!"
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"There is no such thing as verbal authorization on a commercial contract, Sylvia," I said coldly. "My lawyer, Marcus Vance, has already submitted the forensic signature comparison to Lauren and the venue's legal department. If you step onto my property again, or try to use my name on any legal document, the next person visiting you won't be a wedding planner—it will be the police."
I didn't wait for a response. I stepped back, closed the heavy oak door, and turned the deadbolt with a clear, sharp click.
