Chapter 6: The Methodical Man
Richard's first move came on Tuesday.
I was at work — I managed the accounts for a small architectural firm, a job I had taken after my mother passed because it was steady and quiet and asked nothing of me emotionally — when my manager called me into his office and closed the door.
His name was Philip, and he was a decent man who looked deeply uncomfortable.
"Emma," he said.
"I've received a call.
From a solicitor representing a Richard Calloway.
He's alleging that you removed confidential financial documents from a family estate without authorization and that there may be implications for your professional standing." Philip set his hands on his desk.
"I want to hear your side."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"He's trying to get me dismissed," I said.
"Before Thursday."
"Thursday?"
"There's a court hearing.
I'm challenging his claim to a property that belonged to my mother." I kept my voice level.
"Richard is my stepfather.
He has controlled my mother's estate for three years.
The document I obtained is a registered deed from a public record.
I didn't remove anything from anywhere."
Philip was quiet.
He was the kind of man who thought before he spoke, which I had always appreciated.
"Do you have legal representation?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Is your solicitor aware that he's made this call?"
"She will be in approximately four minutes."
Philip looked at me for another moment.
Then he nodded.
"I'm not taking any action," he said.
"But Emma — be careful.
This feels like someone trying to create a paper trail."
"It is," I said.
"Thank you, Philip."
I called Margaret from the stairwell.
"He called your employer," she said, before I had finished explaining.
"Yes.
His solicitor also filed a counter-application this morning claiming the original deed was superseded by a verbal agreement made between Richard and your mother in 2019."
"A verbal agreement."
"Unwitnessed.
Undocumented.
Conveniently made six months before she passed." Margaret's voice was dry.
"He's also submitted a character statement from Daniel, attesting that your mother expressed a wish to leave the property to Richard in her final months."
"Daniel wasn't there in her final months," I said.
"He visited twice.
I was there every week."
"I know.
I need you to document that.
Dates, any witnesses, any written communication from that period — texts, emails, cards, anything your mother sent you." A pause.
"There's something else.
He's filed a motion to have Sophie assessed by a family court welfare officer."
The stairwell went cold.
"On what grounds?" I said.
"He's alleging that your behavior at the Christmas dinner — overturning the table — demonstrated instability and potential risk to a child in your care." Margaret's voice was careful.
"It won't succeed.
But it will slow things down, and it will cost you emotionally.
That's the point."
I leaned against the wall and breathed.
"He's trying to exhaust me," I said.
"Yes."
"Can we stop it?"
"We can respond to it.
Caroline's statement arrived this morning — it's strong, Emma, very strong.
And I've requested the original probate filing, which should show the freeze was applied before any alleged verbal agreement could have taken place." A brief pause.
"He's fighting hard because he knows the deed is real.
If he had a legitimate claim, he wouldn't need to do any of this."
"I know," I said.
"Go back to work.
Document everything from your mother's final months tonight.
And Emma — do not respond to any further messages from unknown numbers."
"I won't."
I went back upstairs.
Philip had left a cup of tea on my desk.
I sat down, opened my email, and began writing down every date I could remember.
Every visit.
Every phone call.
The afternoon my mother had shown me the tin of biscuits on the second shelf and said Emma, I need to tell you something, and then started coughing and said never mind, there's time.
There hadn't been time.
But there was Thursday.
That evening, Daniel called.
I let it ring.
He called again.
I let it ring again.
The third time, I answered.
"Emma." His voice was careful.
Measured.
The voice he used when he was managing a situation.
"I think we need to talk before this goes any further."
"I agree," I said.
"You can talk to Margaret Hale."
"This doesn't have to be a legal matter.
This is family."
"You stopped being family," I said, "when you watched them take her house."
A long silence.
"She wanted Richard to have it," Daniel said.
"I know you don't believe that, but it's true."
"Then why did she leave me the deed?"
He didn't answer.
"Why did she give Caroline an envelope with a red seal and ask her to make sure I received it if anything happened?" I said.
"Why did she call me three weeks before she passed and say there are things I should have told you sooner?"
Still nothing.
"Goodbye, Daniel," I said.
I ended the call and set the phone face-down on the kitchen table.
Sophie was in the next room, singing something tuneless and cheerful to her stuffed rabbit.
May you like
I listened to her for a moment.
Then I picked up a pen and kept writing.
