Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
I didn't take the evidence to the police immediately. In a battle of wealth, Cynthia could afford a fleet of lawyers who would tie this up in court for years, claiming the letter was a forgery or a product of my father's "deteriorating mind." I needed undeniable, physical proof.
I needed a body.
I drove straight to the offices of Marcus Vance (no relation to my family), a ruthless former federal prosecutor turned private attorney. When I laid the letter and the financial audit on his glass desk, he didn't blink.
"Your stepmother is a black widow," Marcus said, adjusting his glasses. "But to prove murder, we need a toxicology report. And since your father is already in the ground, we need a judge to order an exhumation. Cynthia holds the legal power of attorney as his widow. She will fight it."
"Then we don't tell her," I said smoothly. "We bypass her. My father’s burial plot is on Vance family land—private property. If I inherit the land, I control the gravesite."
"According to Cynthia's forged deeds, she owns the land," Marcus pointed out.
"Look at the date on her forged deeds," I tapped the paper. "October 14th. Now look at the real will from the safety deposit box."
Marcus flipped to the last page of the thick document. "September 2nd. This will supersedes her deeds. But we have to file it."
"File it quietly," I ordered. "Get an emergency injunction based on the financial audit to freeze all of Cynthia and Trevor's assets. While she's panicking about her bank accounts, we dig up my father."
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That evening, I returned to the hospital to see Grandpa. He was sitting up, color returning to his cheeks. When I told him the plan, the old soldier’s eyes flashed with a familiar, dangerous light.
"Nail them to the wall, Sarah," he rasped. "Make them bleed."
