Chapter 3 - The Alliance
True to his word, twenty minutes later, a sleek black sedan pulled up beside my battered bakery van. Marcus stepped out, wearing a sharp charcoal overcoat, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the harsh glare of the diner's neon lights.
He took one look at my face—the swelling on my cheek and the dirt smudged on my coat—and his expression hardened into stone.
“Did your father do this?” Marcus asked, stepping close.
“My brother,” I replied, opening the passenger door of the van and grabbing the stolen documents. “My father watched and threatened to freeze my bank accounts.”
Marcus gestured toward his car. “Get in. It’s freezing out here. We can talk inside the car.”
We climbed into the warm interior of his sedan. I handed him the crumpled legal papers I had rescued from the study. Marcus pulled a small penlight from his glove compartment, flicked it on, and began scanning the pages.
As he read, his eyebrows drew together, forming a deep V above his nose.
“Good Lord,” Marcus murmured, turning a page. “Your father didn't just bend the rules, Harriet. He committed outright forgery and mail fraud. This amendment is completely fabricated. The signature doesn't even match Evelyn’s handwriting from her medical charts.”
“Can we fight it?” I asked, holding my breath. “Can we get the building back? And the trust?”
Marcus looked up from the papers, his eyes gleaming with the predatory focus of a seasoned litigator. “Fight it? Harriet, this isn't just a civil dispute anymore. This is a criminal conspiracy. If we take this to the District Attorney with the original will—which I am willing to bet is sitting in your father’s office safe—we can not only secure your bakery building and your trust fund, but we can put your father and Colton in a position where they won't be bothering you ever again.”
“My father’s safe is bolted to the wall behind his desk,” I said, my heart racing. “Combination lock. Only he and his secretary know the numbers.”
“We don't need the combination if we have a court order,” Marcus said smoothly, pulling out his smartphone. “And with these forged documents in hand, I can wake up a judge tonight and have an emergency search warrant signed by midnight.”
A heavy weight lifted off my chest. For the first time all day, I could breathe.
“Marcus… thank you. I don't even know how to begin to pay you for this.”
“Don't worry about my retainer, Harriet,” Marcus smiled gently, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Consider it payback for all those times you smuggled extra cinnamon rolls to my study group during finals week. Now, let’s go pay your family a little visit.”
Forty-five minutes later, we weren't just visiting. We were parked three houses down from my father’s sprawling estate, accompanied by two unmarked county sheriff cruisers and Judge Harrison, who had agreed to meet us at the scene after reviewing Marcus’s emergency affidavit.
The night air was silent, broken only by the crunch of gravel as Marcus and I walked up the long driveway, flanked by the towering figures of Deputy Sheriff Miller and another officer.
The front windows of the house were blazing with light.
“Ready?” Marcus asked, glancing at me.
I touched my bruised cheek, feeling the steady thud of adrenaline in my veins.
May you like
“Ready,” I said.
I stepped up to the front door, raised my hand, and knocked.
