Chapter 6: The Man Who Wanted What Was Hers
Gerald Marsh's office was on the second floor of a narrow building in the town centre — the kind of office that had been there for forty years and looked it.
Dark wood panelling, framed certificates, a receptionist who offered tea before we'd even sat down.
Gerald himself was in his early sixties, careful in the way that long-practice solicitors are careful — every word placed deliberately, nothing wasted.
He shook all three of our hands, looked at Iris for a moment longer than the others, and said, "I'm very glad you came."
We sat across from him at a wide desk.
Carol had arranged the meeting but hadn't come herself.
She'd said it was better this way — that Iris should hear it from the solicitor directly, without a family member in the room who might colour things.
Gerald opened a folder.
"I'll be straightforward.
The trust is valid, properly structured, and Iris is the named beneficiary.
The documentation confirming her identity — birth records, adoption records, the DNA confirmation we'll need to process formally — is all manageable.
There are no legal obstacles on our side."
"What about Stuart Renner's contest?" Alan asked.
"His grounds for contesting were narrow to begin with.
He argued that the beneficiary could not be confirmed as living or located.
Now that she has been located, that argument collapses." Gerald paused.
"His solicitor has already been in touch.
They've requested a delay in proceedings."
"On what grounds?" I asked.
"They're citing procedural concerns about the identity confirmation process.
It's a stalling tactic.
A competent judge will see it as such." He looked at Iris.
"I want to be honest with you.
Stuart Renner will not give this up quietly.
He has been contesting for two years.
He has spent money on this.
He will look for any angle he can find."
"What kind of angle?" Iris asked.
Gerald chose his words carefully.
"He may attempt to challenge the adoption records.
He may argue that the terms of the trust were intended for a child raised within the biological family.
He may introduce character arguments — anything that creates delay or doubt."
"Can he win?"
"Not on the merits.
But he can make the process unpleasant and slow." Gerald folded his hands.
"I want you to be prepared for that."
Iris nodded once.
"Okay."
On the way out, in the stairwell, Alan stopped walking.
"He's going to come at her," he said.
Quietly, but certain.
"Gerald said — "
"Gerald told us what's legally true.
I'm telling you what's practically true." He looked at me.
"A man who's been fighting for two years over money that was never his doesn't stop because a solicitor sends a letter."
He was right.
I knew he was right.
We were in the car park when my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
I answered.
"Is this the mother?" A man's voice.
Flat, unhurried.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Stuart Renner.
I think we should talk."
I stopped walking.
Alan turned.
Iris was already watching my face.
"I don't think we have anything to talk about," I said.
"I think you'll change your mind." A pause.
"I know things about the adoption that you don't.
Things that Gerald Marsh doesn't know either.
Things that could complicate your daughter's claim considerably." Another pause.
"I'm not trying to threaten anyone.
I'm suggesting that a quiet conversation might be better for everyone than a long legal process."
I looked at Iris standing ten feet away in the grey morning light, her hand on the car door, watching me.
"Don't contact this number again," I said.
I ended the call.
Alan was already beside me.
"Who was that?"
"Stuart Renner."
The colour in his face shifted.
"He says he knows something about the adoption," I said.
"Something that could complicate Iris's claim."
We stood there in the car park, the three of us, and nobody spoke.
May you like
Because we all knew the same thing: a man who calls within an hour of a legal meeting, who has a prepared speech ready, who uses words like *complicate* and *quiet conversation* — that man has already decided what he's going to do next.
The question was whether we were ready for it.
