Chapter 8: The Motion
Megan didn't speak for a moment.
"He filed it today," Patricia said.
"Within the last hour."
"He was on his phone at the mall.
When I said I was ready to give my statement." Megan's voice was quiet.
"He was calling his attorney."
"His attorney is David Carver.
I know him." Patricia's tone didn't change, but something behind her eyes did.
"He moves fast.
That's his reputation."
"What does conservatorship mean for me right now?"
"If a judge grants a temporary order, it could freeze your ability to access your own accounts, make legal decisions, or file actions independently — until a full hearing." Patricia was already typing on her laptop.
"It's an aggressive move.
It's also a desperate one.
He's trying to get ahead of you."
"Can he succeed?"
"Not easily.
To get a temporary conservatorship, he needs to show immediate risk of harm — that you are actively making decisions that damage your own interests.
He'll use the scene at the mall.
He'll use whatever he's told your daughter.
He may have other people lined up to corroborate."
"He told the security officer I was confused.
That I'd been struggling since my mother d\*d."
"I expected something like that." Patricia turned the laptop screen slightly.
"I'm filing a counter-motion tonight.
We will document that you are coherent, informed, and acting on legitimate evidence of fraud — not on emotional distress." She paused.
"I need you to write down everything you remember from today.
Every word he said.
Every word the security officer heard.
Diane's full name if you have it."
"Diane." Megan thought.
"She gave me her name but not her last name."
"The jewelry store will have a record of the transaction.
We can subpoena it." Patricia kept typing.
"Did anyone record what happened at the mall?"
"There was a woman with her phone out.
Near the store entrance."
"If that footage exists anywhere — social media, a personal video — we want it."
Megan pulled out her own phone.
She searched Westfield Commons and the date.
Nothing yet.
She searched Grant Blake.
Nothing.
Then she searched Harlow Jewelers Westfield Commons.
A post had gone up forty minutes ago on a local Facebook group.
A woman named Sandra Okafor had written: *Witnessed something at the mall today that I can't stop thinking about.
A man pushed his wife to the ground in front of Harlow Jewelers.
She got up and handled herself with more dignity than I've ever seen.
If anyone knows her, please tell her she has a witness.*
Eleven comments.
Three people had tagged friends.
One person had written: *I was there.
I have it on video.*
Megan turned the screen toward Patricia.
Patricia read it.
Then she looked at Megan.
"Send me that link right now."
Megan sent it.
"I'm going to need you to be reachable tonight," Patricia said.
"The hearing on his motion could be as early as tomorrow morning.
Carver will push for speed because speed is the only advantage he has."
"What do I do until then?"
"Go home.
Document everything.
Do not contact Grant.
Do not respond to anything from his attorney.
If he tries to speak to you, you say one sentence: 'Contact my attorney.' That's it."
Megan nodded.
"And Megan." Patricia looked at her directly.
"He filed this motion because he's scared.
A man who was winning would not do this.
He would wait.
He would let you exhaust yourself." She paused.
"He filed it in the last hour because you walked into a mall this afternoon and didn't fall apart."
Megan stood.
Picked up her bag.
"The bracelet," she said.
"Diane still has it."
"I'll add it to the filing.
Documented personal property removed from the marital home under false pretenses." Patricia made a note.
"We'll get it back."
Megan walked to the door.
She stopped with her hand on the frame.
"He told me I made him push me," she said.
"In front of all those people.
He looked down at me on the floor and said, 'Look what you made me do.'"
Patricia didn't look away.
"I know.
And tomorrow, a judge is going to hear exactly that."
Megan walked out.
In the elevator, alone, she pressed the button for the lobby and stood very still while the doors closed.
She did not cry.
She made a list in her head instead.
Carol.
Lily.
The accountant.
Sandra Okafor.
The person who had video.
She had more than she'd walked in with.
She pressed her back against the elevator wall and breathed.
May you like
The doors opened.
She walked out into the late afternoon, got into her car, and drove home to the house that was no longer in her name — and started writing everything down.
