Chapter 8: What Marcus Did Next
He didn't call again.
Instead, he showed up.
It was Saturday morning, two days after Carla filed.
I was in my grandmother's kitchen making coffee when I heard a car in the driveway — not Aaron's.
A black SUV I didn't recognize.
Marcus got out alone.
He was taller than I'd expected from his voice.
Well-dressed.
He walked to the front door like someone who'd never been turned away from one.
I didn't open it.
"Claire." He knocked twice.
"I'm not here to threaten you.
I just want five minutes."
I called Carla.
She didn't pick up.
I texted: *Marcus is at the house.*
I looked at the door.
Then I opened it — but I didn't step back to let him in.
"Five minutes," I said.
"Here."
He looked at the doorframe.
Decided not to push it.
"I want to make you an offer," he said.
"A real one.
Not what Aaron proposed — something fair." He reached into his jacket and produced an envelope.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Wire transfer, cleared within forty-eight hours.
You drop the motion, you return Diana's phone, and we all walk away."
I looked at the envelope.
I didn't take it.
"The land is worth more than that," I said.
Something shifted in his face.
Just slightly.
"You've done your research."
"The rezoning was approved six months ago.
The development corridor adds significant value.
Two-fifty is an insult."
He studied me for a moment.
Then he put the envelope back in his jacket.
"You're not what Aaron described," he said.
"No," I said.
"I'm not."
"He told me you were soft.
That you'd been waiting for him your whole life and you'd do anything to keep the marriage." He tilted his head.
"He was wrong about that."
"He was wrong about a lot of things."
Marcus looked past me into the house.
Just briefly — at the hallway, the kitchen behind me, the porch swing visible through the side window.
"Your grandmother bought this property in 1974," he said.
"Did you know that?
She paid eleven thousand dollars for it.
She planted the apple trees in the back herself." He paused.
"I looked it up.
I look up everything before I get involved."
"Then you know it's not for sale."
He was quiet for a moment.
"The DA is going to come at me," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I'd imagine so."
"I want you to know — what Aaron told you about me having connections in that courthouse.
That was Aaron talking.
I don't operate that way."
"You structured the transfer clause," I said.
"You arranged the notary.
You told Diana about the other cases at dinner and laughed about it."
His jaw tightened.
"She told you that."
"She recorded it."
He looked at me for a long moment.
The morning was quiet around us — birds somewhere in the apple trees, a distant car on the road.
"What would it take," he said slowly, "for you to consider a different arrangement?
Something that doesn't involve the DA."
"Nothing," I said.
"There's nothing you can offer me that changes what you did to those other people.
The ones before me." I held his gaze.
"I'm not the only case, Marcus.
You said so yourself."
He stood there another moment.
Then he straightened — the same jacket-straightening gesture Aaron used, I noticed.
Brothers after all.
"You should know," he said, "that Aaron is going to make the divorce very difficult."
"He can try."
Marcus nodded once.
He walked back to the SUV, got in, and drove away without looking back.
I went inside and poured my coffee.
My hands were steady.
Carla called back eleven minutes later.
I told her what had happened.
"He came to the house?" Her voice sharpened.
"Yes."
"That's obstruction of a legal proceeding.
He just handed us something." A pause.
"Did you record it?"
I looked at my phone.
I'd started recording the moment I opened the door.
"Yes," I said.
A short silence.
Then: "Claire.
You're very good at this."
May you like
"I had a good teacher," I said.
"Her name was Diana."
