Chapter 6: Richard Makes His Offer
Harold called at seven forty-five the next morning.
"Richard Vale wants to meet today," he said.
"He's bringing his personal attorney, a man named Forsythe.
Old firm, county connections.
He'll come in calm and reasonable and he'll have a number ready."
"What kind of number?"
"Enough to make this go away quietly.
That's his calculation." Harold paused.
"He doesn't know yet that Grace has already submitted her preliminary findings to my office, or that I've contacted the county clerk about the guardianship filing.
He thinks he's still managing this."
"Is he?"
"No," Harold said.
"But let him believe it for one more hour."
We met at Harold's office at ten.
Richard arrived in a dark suit with Forsythe beside him — a thin man with careful eyes who set a leather folder on the table and did not open it.
Richard looked at me the way he had always looked at me.
Like I was a problem he was solving.
"Charles," he said.
"I appreciate you coming."
"Harold arranged it," I said.
Richard turned to Harold with a measured smile.
"I think we can resolve this simply," Richard said.
"The documents in question were part of an exploratory process that never reached a formal stage.
Nothing was filed.
Nothing was executed.
We're prepared to destroy all copies and provide written confirmation that no further action will be taken regarding Willowbrook Farm or Margaret Hartwell."
Harold said nothing.
Richard continued.
"In recognition of the disruption to Charles's personal life, we're also prepared to offer a goodwill payment.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Deposited within seventy-two hours.
No conditions.
No admission of wrongdoing."
The room was quiet.
I looked at Richard.
"Where is the second copy of the property agreement?" I asked.
Something moved behind his eyes.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Mercer had my mother sign two copies," I said.
"Patricia kept one.
The other one went somewhere.
I want to know where."
Forsythe shifted in his chair.
Richard's voice stayed level.
"Charles, I'm offering you a clean resolution.
A significant sum.
No legal process, no public exposure, no—"
"The f0rged power of attorney has already been examined by a documents specialist," Harold said quietly.
"Her preliminary report is dated yesterday.
It identifies two separate ink sources and a pre-fold crease consistent with a blank signature obtained before document completion." He opened his own folder.
"I've also contacted the county clerk's office regarding the guardianship petition.
They have no record of a filing, but they are now aware that one may be attempted, and they have flagged the name."
Forsythe leaned toward Richard and said something very quietly.
Richard did not look at him.
"You're turning a private matter into something adversarial," Richard said.
"That benefits no one."
"You f0rged my mother's signature," I said.
"You had her driven to a meeting under false pretenses and you had her sign a document that would have taken her home.
You commissioned fake medical reports describing a woman with dementia who has never had a single symptom.
And you planned the entire thing around my wedding date so I wouldn't find out until it was too late." I leaned forward.
"Tell me which part of that is private."
Richard's jaw tightened.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand," he said again.
"Final offer."
"No," I said.
Forsythe closed his leather folder.
Richard looked at me for a long moment.
"You have no idea what my father's relationships in this county can do to a property dispute," he said.
The boardroom voice was gone.
"Harold is a good attorney.
But there are judges here who have known my family for thirty years.
If this goes to court, it will be slow, expensive, and uncertain.
Your mother will spend years in legal proceedings.
Is that what you want for her?"
Harold's pen stopped moving.
I looked at Richard.
"My mother spent twelve years running a farm alone after my father d*ed," I said.
"She argued with banks.
She survived droughts.
She got up before sunrise when grief made it almost impossible to move." I stood up.
"She is not afraid of a long fight.
And neither am I."
I picked up my jacket.
"Harold will be in touch about the second document," I said.
"And about the physicians who signed those evaluations.
We'll want their names."
Richard said nothing.
But Forsythe was already writing something on a notepad, and he turned it so Richard could read it.
Richard read it.
May you like
His expression didn't change.
But he didn't say another word as we left.
