Chapter 6: Marcus Pushes Back
Monday came with rain and a phone call I wasn't expecting.
I was in Raymond's office at nine.
Sophie was at my sister Carol's house, which was where she stayed when I needed to be somewhere she couldn't follow.
Carol had picked her up without asking questions, which was another form of kindness I hadn't known I needed.
Raymond had the sealed bag on his desk and a printed copy of the property transfer document beside it.
"Before we begin," he said, "I want you to know that Marcus Veil retained counsel over the weekend.
His attorney contacted me yesterday evening."
"Already."
"His attorney's name is Patrick Greaves.
He specializes in civil property disputes.
He's competent." Raymond said the word the way someone says *adequate*.
"His position is that the power of attorney was signed voluntarily and that his client acted in good faith on the basis of a valid legal document."
"Good faith," I repeated.
"It's a standard opening position.
It means nothing yet." Raymond slid a letter across the desk.
"He also sent this."
I read it.
It was two pages of formal legal language, but the core of it was simple: Marcus Veil was claiming that I had entered into a verbal agreement to sell the property, that the power of attorney was the formalization of that agreement, and that by canceling the wedding and refusing to complete the transfer, I had caused him financial damages.
He was threatening to countersue.
"He's claiming I agreed to sell him my house."
"Yes."
"That's not true."
"I know.
But it's what he's saying." Raymond folded his hands.
"This is the complication I warned you about.
He's not going to accept the fraud accusation quietly.
He's going to create a competing narrative and make the court sort it out."
"Can he win with that narrative?"
"No.
But he can slow things down.
He can make it expensive.
He can make it uncomfortable." Raymond looked at me steadily.
"He may also be counting on you to decide it isn't worth it."
I set the letter back on the desk.
"It's worth it," I said.
Raymond picked up his pen.
"Then we file the fraud complaint today.
Criminal and civil.
Once that's on record, his counterthreat becomes much harder to sustain, because it puts him in the position of claiming a legitimate agreement while simultaneously being investigated for document fraud."
"Do it."
We spent two hours going through every detail.
Raymond's assistant took a formal statement from me.
I signed documents authorizing the forensic examination of the phone and the handwriting analysis of the transfer document.
I provided the names of every person who had been present at the venue on the day of the wedding.
At eleven-thirty, Raymond's phone rang.
He answered, listened for thirty seconds, and said, "Thank you.
Send it through."
He hung up and turned to his computer.
"The venue's security footage," he said.
"I requested it Friday.
They've sent the hallway recordings for the third floor." He turned the monitor so I could see.
The timestamp read 2:47 PM.
The wedding had been scheduled for three.
Marcus Veil walked into frame from the stairwell.
He was carrying a leather document case.
He stopped outside the bridal suite door and checked his phone.
Then he knocked.
Amanda opened the door.
She looked both ways down the hall before letting him in.
They were inside for eleven minutes.
When Marcus came back out, the document case was open and he was refolding papers.
Raymond let it play to the end, then stopped it.
"That," he said, "is Marcus Veil entering the bridal suite with documents before the ceremony.
That is Amanda Reeves checking the hallway before admitting him.
That is premeditation, not good faith."
I watched the frozen frame on the screen.
Marcus in the hallway, document case in hand, completely calm.
"He really thought it was going to work," I said.
"He's done this before," Raymond said.
"Or something like it.
Men who plan this carefully don't do it for the first time."
That thought stayed with me on the drive home.
The rain had gotten heavier.
I sat at a red light and watched it run down the windshield and thought about what Raymond had said.
*He's done this before.*
When I got home there was an envelope on my doorstep.
No stamp.
Hand-delivered.
Inside was a single index card.
Typed, not handwritten.
*Drop the complaint.
Or Sophie's school finds out her father is under investigation for mortgage fraud.*
May you like
My hands went very still on the card.
He wasn't just threatening me anymore.
