Chapter 9: The Morning of the Hearing
Carol arrived at six-fifteen with coffee and a folder.
The folder held printed copies of everything — the photos from Grant's office, the accountant's email, the Facebook post from Sandra Okafor, and three screenshots of the comment thread where a man named Tom Briggs had confirmed he had video of the incident at the mall.
Patricia had contacted Tom Briggs by nine the previous evening.
By ten, he had sent her the full unedited footage.
Megan had not slept well.
She'd sat at the kitchen table until nearly two in the morning, writing out her account of the day in the order Patricia had asked for — every word, every witness, every timestamp she could remember.
When she finally lay down, she stared at the ceiling and thought about the morning of her mother's funeral.
The flowers she'd chosen.
The way the room had smelled.
Grant arriving late, in a dark suit, squeezing her hand in the front pew.
While she was choosing flowers, he was on Clement Street.
She got up at five.
Carol set the coffee down.
"Patricia called me this morning.
She said the video is clear."
"How clear?"
"You can see his face.
You can hear what he said." Carol sat down.
"All of it, Megan.
'Look what you made me do.' On camera."
Megan wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.
"Diane called me last night," she said.
Carol looked up.
"Diane called you?"
"She found my number through the jewelry store — she'd given them her contact information for the receipt and asked them to pass mine along.
I almost didn't answer." Megan looked at the table.
"She's not what I expected."
"What did she say?"
"She said she'd spent the night going through everything Grant had ever told her.
Every story, every document, every reason he'd given for things being the way they were." Megan paused.
"She said she found a folder in her own apartment.
He'd left it there two months ago.
She thought it was work papers.
She never opened it."
"What was in it?"
"A second forged document.
A will amendment.
Dated four days after my mother's funeral." Megan set down the cup.
"It listed Grant as the primary beneficiary of my mother's remaining estate.
It had my signature on it.
And Lily's."
Carol's face went still.
"He forged both of us," Megan said.
"He used Lily's signature from whatever she signed in February and matched it to a fake will amendment.
Lily signed a witness form for a document that didn't exist yet."
"He planned it that far ahead."
"He planned all of it." Megan's voice was flat.
"The power of attorney.
The separation agreement.
The property transfer.
The will amendment.
Each one built on the last.
Each one with my name on it."
Carol reached across the table and put her hand over Megan's.
They sat like that for a moment.
Then Megan's phone lit up.
Patricia.
"The hearing is at nine," Patricia said.
"Carver filed a supporting declaration from a Dr.
Ellison — a psychiatrist Grant apparently saw twice for couples counseling two years ago.
He's claiming you showed signs of emotional dysregulation."
"A couples counselor is testifying against me?"
"He's not a couples counselor.
He saw you both twice in a professional capacity and Grant has apparently been in contact with him privately since.
It's thin.
A judge will see through it." A pause.
"But I want you prepared for it."
"What else?"
"Carver is also filing a declaration from Grant's business partner, a man named Russell Holt, claiming the Aldren Capital Group transfer was a legitimate business decision made with your full knowledge and verbal consent."
"I have never heard the name Russell Holt in my life."
"I know.
We'll address it." Another pause.
"Megan.
Diane called my office this morning."
Megan looked at Carol.
"I know.
She called me last night.
She has a document."
"She's willing to testify," Patricia said.
"She wants to.
She said, and I'm quoting directly — 'I was used too, and I'm not going to sit quietly about it.'"
Megan exhaled slowly.
"The video," she said.
"Is it enough?"
"The video, the accountant's email, the document Diane found, the notary date, and the Facebook witness who is willing to give a sworn statement — yes." Patricia's voice was steady.
"It's enough.
Come in at eight-thirty."
Megan ended the call.
Carol was watching her.
"What do you need?" Carol asked.
Megan stood.
Picked up the folder.
Looked around the kitchen — the house that had been transferred without her knowledge to a company she'd never heard of, in a filing made while she was still arranging her mother's funeral.
May you like
"I need to get dressed," she said.
"And then I need to go end this."
