Chapter 8 - The Lawyer’s Visit
Marcus Vance climbed the wooden porch steps with slow, deliberate strides, his face set in a grim, professional mask. He looked at me with a nod of acknowledgment.
"Good morning, Hannah. Is Ruth inside?" he asked, his voice gravelly and deep.
"She's in the kitchen, Mr. Vance," I said, setting the watering can down. "I'll go get her."
Before I could turn, Grandma pushed the screen door open, stepping out onto the porch with her cane held firmly in her right hand. She didn't look surprised to see him. In fact, she looked like she had been expecting him for days.
"Marcus," Grandma said coolly. "What brings you all the way out to the lake? Did Arthur finally pay you enough to listen to his whining?"
Marcus gave a dry, humorless chuckle as he set his briefcase down on the rustic wooden table. "Not a chance, Ruth. Arthur came into my office yesterday afternoon looking like a ghost who forgot how to haunt. He tried to claim that your 1984 trust deed was invalid due to a clerical error in the county filing stamps."
Grandma raised an eyebrow. "And what did you tell him?"
"I told him that I personally filed those documents thirty-two years ago, stamped them with the county clerk's seal, and kept the duplicate carbon copy in my personal vault," Marcus said, opening his briefcase and pulling out a heavy, yellowed manila folder tied with faded red ribbon. "I told him he was grasping at straws, and then I threw him out of my office when he threatened to sue me for professional malpractice."
He slid the folder across the table toward Grandma.
"He’s not giving up, Ruth," Marcus continued, his tone turning serious. "He’s convinced himself that if he can prove the house was purchased with funds from his early construction partnerships back in the nineties, he can break the trust in civil court before winter. He’s filing a petition for an emergency receivership."
I felt my breath catch in my throat. "Can he do that? Can a court overturn a legal trust over past business funds?"
Marcus turned his gaze toward me, his eyes softening behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Only if he can prove coercion or fraud, Hannah. And Arthur has neither. But he can make your grandmother’s life a living hell with legal fees, depositions, and months of court hearings. He wants to drag this out until you leave for college, hoping the stress will break you both."
Grandma opened the manila folder, her eyes scanning the faded typewritten pages with absolute calm. She didn't flinch. She didn't raise her voice. She simply closed the folder, slid it back toward the lawyer, and smiled.
"Let him file, Marcus," Grandma said softly.
Marcus blinked in surprise. "Ruth, litigation isn't cheap, and at your age—"
"I have more money than Arthur has desperation, and I have more patience than he has years left in his temper," Grandma interrupted, her voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable power. "Let him spend every last dime he doesn't have on filing fees. But before he does... I want you to file a countersuit."
Marcus leaned forward, a spark of professional curiosity lighting up his eyes. "A countersuit for what?"
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"For fraudulent misrepresentation of property improvements, financial exploitation of a dependent minor, and destruction of personal property," Grandma said smoothly, her eyes gleaming like polished steel. "And while you're at it... include a restraining order keeping him at least five hundred yards away from Hannah, myself, and this property, effective immediately."
Marcus stared at her for three seconds, then threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh. "Consider it done, Ruth. I'll have the papers served by tomorrow morning."
