Chapter 7: No Lawyers
Three days passed.
Geoffrey's colleague — a criminal law specialist named Diane Okafor — reviewed everything over the course of forty-eight hours.
She called Marcus on a Wednesday evening, her voice brisk and precise.
"The time-stamped account from your witness at the venue is particularly strong," Diane said.
"Combined with the call to your family solicitor's office and the unauthorized inquiry to your mother's GP surgery, we have a pattern.
One incident is a mistake.
Three coordinated incidents is a plan."
"What happens next?" Marcus asked.
"I've been in contact with a detective at the financial crimes unit.
They want to speak with you and Dorothy.
Not as suspects — as complainants.
They're particularly interested in the GP inquiry, because that may constitute impersonation in addition to the other elements." She paused.
"I want to prepare you for the fact that this will take time.
These things always do.
But the foundation is solid."
Marcus thanked her and set his phone down.
He was sitting in the living room.
Dorothy was across from him in her chair by the window — the chair she had always used, the one with the slightly worn armrest where thirty years of evenings had left their mark.
"They want to meet with us," Marcus said.
"The police.
Financial crimes unit."
Dorothy nodded once.
"Good."
"It could take months."
"I've waited longer for things that mattered less," she said.
What Marcus did not tell his mother — not yet — was the second part of what Diane had said.
Because Gloria had not waited for his reply to her text.
She had escalated.
On Tuesday morning — two days after the wedding that never happened — Gloria had walked into Dorothy's GP surgery and told the receptionist she was Dorothy's daughter-in-law and that she was concerned Dorothy had shown signs of confusion during a recent family event.
She had asked to speak with someone about next steps.
The receptionist — who had received the security flag Geoffrey had arranged on the Monday — had declined, noted the visit, and called Geoffrey's office within the hour.
Diane had the note in front of her when she called Marcus.
Gloria had walked into the surgery knowing Marcus might have taken legal steps.
She had walked in anyway.
That was either desperation or arrogance, and Marcus was not sure which one was worse.
On Thursday, Vanessa called.
Marcus almost didn't answer.
Then he remembered what Geoffrey had said — *whatever they say next, you want it documented* — and he pressed record on a second device before picking up.
"Marcus." Her voice was different from the wedding.
The performance was gone.
What was left was something more stripped down, and harder to read.
"I know you're talking to lawyers.
I know what my mother did at the surgery.
I didn't know she was going to do that.
I want you to know that."
"I'm listening," Marcus said.
Nothing more.
"What happened at the wedding — the conditions, the document — that was her plan.
Not mine.
She's been pushing this for months.
I went along with it because I didn't know how to stop her." A pause.
"That doesn't excuse me.
I know that."
"No," Marcus said.
"It doesn't."
"I'm not calling to ask you to drop anything.
I'm calling because—" She stopped.
Started again.
"She's going to go further.
You need to know that.
Whatever she told you she was planning, she has already moved past it.
She has a contact — someone she knows through a property firm.
He finds vulnerable elderly people who own valuable property and he helps her find legal angles to get to them." Her voice was flat now.
Careful.
Like someone reading from something true.
"Your mother isn't the first.
There have been others."
Marcus sat very still.
"How many others?" he said.
"I don't know exactly.
Three that I know of." A long pause.
"One of them lost her house."
The line was quiet for several seconds.
"Vanessa," Marcus said slowly.
"I'm going to ask you one question.
And I need the truth."
"Yes."
"Is this call your idea, or your mother's?"
Silence.
A long, unsteady silence.
"Mine," she said finally.
"She doesn't know I'm calling."
"Then I need you to do something," Marcus said.
"I need you to say everything you just told me again — to a detective.
On the record.
With a lawyer present if you want one." He paused.
"If you're telling me the truth, this is how you prove it."
Another silence.
Shorter this time.
May you like
"Okay," Vanessa said quietly.
"Okay."
