Chapter 6: The Offer
Patricia's office felt smaller with three of us in it.
Claire sat to my left with a notepad, her reading glasses on, every clause of the codicil marked in pencil by the time Patricia finished walking us through it.
She asked questions I had not thought to ask — about the conditions under which a trustee could petition for sole authority, about the notice period required before any legal action, about whether residency itself created standing.
Patricia answered each one without hedging.
When Claire was satisfied, she sat back and looked at Patricia.
"If Daniel were to petition for sole trustee status on the grounds of incapacity, what would he need to demonstrate?"
"Medical documentation, primarily.
A pattern of behavior that demonstrated inability to manage property decisions.
Two independent evaluations."
"Has anyone formally initiated that process?"
"Not through my office."
"Through another office?"
Patricia paused.
"I'm not in a position to speak to other attorneys' case files."
Claire made a note.
"Understood."
We drove back in near silence.
When we turned through the gates, Claire spoke.
"She's not there yet legally.
But she's been building toward it.
The separate attorney consultation.
Moving her parents in to establish a pattern of multi-family occupancy.
The renovation talk — that's groundwork for demonstrating that the property requires management decisions you're not making."
"She's been building a case."
"A potential one.
It would be weak right now.
But if she keeps adding to it for another year—" Claire stopped.
"She's patient, Mum.
That's what worries me."
Daniel was waiting in the entrance hall when we came inside.
He had his hands in his pockets and the look of a man who had rehearsed something.
"Can we talk?" he said.
Claire started up the stairs.
"I'll be in the study if you need me," she said — to me, not to Daniel.
Daniel watched her go.
Then he turned to me.
"Ashley's parents are going to the guest suite.
Permanently.
No more discussion about the west wing."
"All right."
"And I spoke to Ashley about the attorney she consulted."
"What did she say?"
"She said she was being cautious.
That she wanted to understand the legal landscape in case you—" He stopped.
"In case I what?"
He looked at the floor.
"In case you made a decision about the house that affected all of us.
Sold it.
Changed the trust.
Something like that."
"She was preparing to move against me because she was afraid I might act first."
"That's not—" He caught himself.
"She framed it differently."
"I'm sure she did."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then: "I know I handled this wrong.
I know Dad's letter said—"
"Don't."
"Mum—"
"Not yet, Daniel." I was tired suddenly, in a way that had nothing to do with the time of day.
"I need you to understand something.
Whatever your wife has been planning, whatever legal options she's been researching — I need to know that you are not part of that.
That you are my son and not her co-applicant."
His jaw worked.
"I'm not."
"Are you certain?"
The pause was a half-second too long.
"I never agreed to any action against you," he said.
"I want you to know that."
Not the same thing.
But I let it sit.
"There will be changes," I said.
"To the living arrangement.
To the boundaries.
Claire and I are meeting with Patricia again on Friday, and after that I'll sit down with you and tell you what I've decided."
"What you've decided."
"Yes."
Something crossed his face — not quite protest, not quite acceptance.
He nodded once, stiffly, and went upstairs.
The next morning I found an envelope on my console table.
No name on the outside.
Inside was a single card in Ashley's handwriting.
*I think we should sit down, just the two of us, without Daniel or Claire.
I have something to offer that I think you'll want to hear.
— A*
May you like
I carried it to the kitchen, set the kettle on, and read it again.
Then I put it in the same drawer where I kept Frank's letter, and I went to call Patricia.
