Chapter 4
Marcus Webb's name lit up the screen, exactly on schedule, because I had texted him forty minutes earlier the moment my father called this "family meeting," and he had promised to call back at three o'clock sharp whether I needed him to or not.
Every face in that kitchen went pale.
I answered on speaker, calm, my voice steadier than it had been in eleven weeks.
"Yes, counselor. They said it. On the record, with witnesses." I looked directly at my father as I said it. "My father told me my brother needs the money more than I need my life. You can add that to the file."
Marcus's voice came through clean and unhurried, the voice of a man who had been waiting years for a case this clean to fall into his lap. "Understood, Rachel. That's more than enough for the restraining order and the financial elder-coercion filing. I'll also be referencing the irrevocable trust your grandmother set up specifically naming you as sole beneficiary of medical funds, which legally bars any family member from compelling a transfer. We'll have the paperwork ready within the hour."
My mother's hand flew to her mouth. "Trust? What trust?"
May you like
"Grandma Doyle's," I said. "The one she set up the year Evan first started gambling, when she said, and I quote, 'this is for Rachel, and Rachel only, because someone in this family needs protecting from the rest of you.' She made me promise not to tell you until I needed it."
My father's face had gone the color of the cream walls behind him. "Rachel, we can talk about this—"
