Chapter 10: Marcus Makes His Move
Renata called Monday morning at seven forty-five.
I was in my kitchen with coffee I hadn't touched yet when my phone rang.
"I pulled the estate filings," she said.
"There are some irregularities."
"What kind?"
"The trust was valued at four hundred and twenty thousand at the time of filing.
The most recent annual report, filed eight months ago, shows it at three hundred and eighty-two thousand.
A decrease of thirty-eight thousand dollars over eighteen months."
"Is that normal?"
"It depends entirely on how the trust was invested and what fees were charged.
Conservative management shouldn't produce that kind of decrease in a stable market period." A pause.
"There's also a line item for executor compensation that is on the high end of standard.
Not illegal on its face, but worth questioning."
"Can you represent Daniel?"
"I can.
But he needs to formally engage me, and we need to move before Marcus files anything with the court to delay disbursement." Another pause.
"Sarah, if Marcus files a challenge to the marriage on Monday, it creates a legal hold on the trust.
Even if the challenge ultimately fails, it could tie things up for months.
Maybe longer."
"How do we stop that?"
"Daniel needs to file first.
A formal request for disbursement, with supporting documentation — the marriage certificate, the trust document, the letter from his father." She paused.
"Do you have the marriage certificate?"
I looked at the time.
It was not yet eight in the morning.
"I'll get it," I said.
I called Tina.
"The marriage certificate," I said when she picked up.
"Do you have it?"
"It's — yes.
It's in my bag.
I grabbed it yesterday when you brought my things, I just—" A rustling sound.
"I have it."
"I need you to photograph both sides and send it to me right now."
"Sarah, what's happening?"
I told her.
She sent the photos in under two minutes.
I forwarded everything to Renata.
She said she'd have a filing ready by noon and would need Daniel's signature.
At nine-fifteen, Marcus called Daniel directly.
Daniel put it on speaker.
Tina and I were both in the room.
"I spoke with the attorney this morning," Marcus said.
"Given the circumstances of the marriage — the secrecy, the speed, the lack of family involvement — I've advised him that I intend to file a protective petition with the probate court.
Just to ensure everything is in order before any disbursement."
"On what grounds?" Daniel said.
"Executor's discretion."
"That's not a ground, Marcus.
That's a stall."
"I'm protecting Dad's estate."
"You're protecting yourself." Daniel's voice was very level.
"I know about the thirty-eight thousand, Marcus."
Silence.
"I don't know what you think you know—"
"I know the trust has decreased by thirty-eight thousand dollars in eighteen months.
I know you've been drawing executor compensation above standard rate.
And I know that if I hadn't gotten married before my thirty-fifth birthday, the whole thing would have dissolved back to you."
More silence.
"You have no idea what managing that estate has involved," Marcus said.
His voice had changed.
The careful, measured tone was still there, but something underneath it had tightened.
"Dad left things in a complicated state.
There were costs.
There were decisions that had to be made."
"Then you can explain them to a judge," Daniel said.
"Don't do this."
"You did this, Marcus.
The moment you didn't tell me about the condition."
"I was protecting you." The careful tone cracked, just slightly.
"You were twenty-two when Dad wrote that trust.
You were reckless.
You would have gone out and married the first woman who smiled at you just to get the money."
"I was twenty-two.
I'm thirty-four now.
And you never updated your assessment."
"I was looking out for the family."
"You were looking out for yourself." Daniel paused.
"Don't file the petition, Marcus.
It won't work, and it will only make everything worse for you."
A long silence.
Then Marcus said: "You always were the favorite."
He hung up.
The three of us sat in the quiet of the hospital room.
Tina looked at Daniel.
"Are you all right?"
He was looking at the phone in his hand.
"He really thought he was going to get away with it," he said.
Not angry.
Just tired.
"He had two years to get used to the idea."
"He didn't get away with it," I said.
Daniel looked up at me.
May you like
"Not yet," he said.
"Let's make sure."
