Chapter 7: The Day Charles Ran Out of Room
Dennis moved quickly.
By Thursday, the DA's office had the recording.
By Friday morning, Harlan Briggs had retained a criminal defense attorney and stopped returning calls.
The notary whose credentials had been used — a woman named Greta Solis who worked out of a small office in Utica — had given a full statement confirming she had never witnessed any document connected to Lucas's estate and had no knowledge her stamp had been copied.
I was home by then.
Eleanor slept in the bassinet Lucas had assembled in the corner of the bedroom three months before the accident, following the instructions with the focused patience he brought to everything.
Samantha came on Friday afternoon.
She sat across from me at the kitchen table — the same table Charles had dropped his folder on five days earlier — and walked me through what had been filed.
"Briggs is cooperating," she said.
"Partially.
He's trying to limit his own exposure.
What he's given them so far is enough to charge your father with fraud, forgery, and elder financial exploitation — that last one because of the trust provisions and your status as a surviving spouse with a dependent."
"What does Charles say?"
"He's retained an attorney.
His position, as of yesterday, is that he believed he had your verbal authorization and that any document issues were the result of errors made by people he hired." She paused.
"He's blaming Briggs."
"And Briggs is blaming him."
"Yes." A small, dry pause.
"It's going well for us."
I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup.
"I want to see him," I said.
Samantha looked at me carefully.
"Charles?"
"I want to talk to him before this goes further.
Not to negotiate.
Not to give him anything." I looked at her.
"I want him to hear it from me directly."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I can arrange a meeting," she said.
"Neutral location.
His attorney would need to be present."
"That's fine."
The meeting happened the following Monday, in a conference room at Samantha's office.
Charles arrived with a man named Gerald Fitch, who had the practiced calm of someone paid to keep other people from saying things they couldn't take back.
Charles looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically — he was still the same broad-shouldered man who had filled my kitchen doorway six days ago.
But something had gone out of him.
He didn't look at me when he sat down.
"Victoria," Gerald Fitch said, "my client is prepared to discuss a resolution that—"
"I'm not here to resolve anything," I said.
"I'm here to say one thing to my father."
Charles looked up.
"Lucas knew you would do this," I said.
"He told me once that you had never once in your life been happy for someone else's good fortune.
Not even mine.
He said if anything ever happened to him, you would be at the door before the flowers wilted." I kept my voice even.
"He was right.
And he made sure of it."
Charles's jaw moved.
"Victoria, I was trying to protect—"
"Don't." My voice didn't rise.
"Eleanor is six days old.
You have never asked about her.
You have not once asked if she is healthy.
You came to my house to take what Lucas built, and you brought that woman to laugh at me while I was on my knees on my own porch." I leaned forward slightly.
"I want you to understand something.
The fraud charge is the DA's business.
The civil suit is Samantha's business.
But what you did to me that morning — that is something I will carry, and so will you, for the rest of your life."
The room was quiet.
Gerald Fitch started to speak.
Charles put a hand up and stopped him.
For a long moment, Charles just sat there.
Then he said: "I didn't know your water had broken."
It was the worst possible thing he could have said.
Because it meant he thought that was the line.
That if he had known, something would have been different.
That the line was there, somewhere, and he simply hadn't seen it.
I stood up.
"Goodbye, Charles," I said.
I walked out.
Samantha followed.
In the elevator, she didn't say anything.
Neither did I.
May you like
But when the doors opened at the lobby, she touched my arm briefly.
That was enough.
