Chapter 7: The Solicitor Grant Didn't Know About
The man Grant had hired was named Desmond Foyle.
Lucinda gave Silvio the name that afternoon, along with the name of the firm, the approximate date Grant had first made contact, and the rough outline of the legal strategy Grant intended to use to contest the amendment.
She gave him all of it in a flat, steady voice, like someone reading from a list they had memorized against their will.
When she was done, Silvio called Aldric back.
"Foyle," Aldric said immediately.
"I know the firm.
They specialize in estate contests.
They're not without ability, but the grounds they'd need to argue — diminished capacity at signing — are weak.
Your father was examined by two independent physicians within the month he signed.
I insisted on it precisely because I anticipated a challenge."
"Can they delay it?
String it out past the thirtieth?"
"They can try.
An emergency injunction is possible if they move fast.
But they'd need to file within days, and filing would make everything public.
Grant would have to show his hand." A pause.
"Has he given any indication he's ready to do that?"
"Not yet.
He's still trying to manage it quietly."
"Then he's running out of time and he knows it." Aldric's voice was careful.
"Silvio, what happened yesterday with the children — is there documentation?
Witnesses?
Anything that creates a formal record?"
Silvio thought about the bodyguard.
The gate log.
Petra.
"Yes," he said.
"Then I would suggest you speak to a family law solicitor today.
Not tomorrow.
Today.
Because if Grant is willing to leave two children in a car in July, I don't want to speculate about what else he's willing to do with ten days left on the clock."
Silvio had already been thinking the same thing.
He made two more calls that afternoon.
The first was to a family law firm in the city — a senior partner named Grace Whitmore who came recommended by two people Silvio trusted completely.
He gave her the outline in twenty minutes.
She asked sharp, efficient questions.
At the end she said: "Bring me the gate log, the note, and the names of your witnesses.
I want everything in writing before we file anything."
"How fast can you move?"
"Faster than Grant's solicitor," she said.
"That's what you're really asking."
The second call was to the bodyguard who had been holding Ethan in the valet court.
His name was Marcus.
He had worked for the estate for three years.
Silvio asked him directly: would he give a formal statement about what he had witnessed, including the gate log and what Ethan had whispered to him.
There was a pause.
"He said it wasn't the first time they'd been locked somewhere," Marcus said.
"Those were his exact words.
I've been thinking about it all night." Another pause.
"Yes.
I'll give a statement.
Whatever you need."
By evening, Silvio had a folder on his desk with the note in Lucinda's handwriting, a printed copy of the gate log, Petra's account written out in full and signed, and a preliminary statement from Marcus.
He was reading through it when Grant knocked on the study door and walked in without waiting.
"We need to talk about Lucinda," Grant said.
He sat down across from Silvio without being invited.
"She's been emotional.
I'm worried about her.
I think she may have said some things to you today that weren't entirely accurate."
Silvio looked at him across the desk.
"What kind of things?" he said.
"She has a history of anxiety.
You know that.
When she's under stress she can misremember conversations, exaggerate, read threat into things that weren't intended as threats." Grant's voice was even, almost sympathetic.
"I love your sister.
But she's not always a reliable narrator of her own life."
"Is that what you came here to tell me?"
"I came here to tell you that whatever she said, I'd like the chance to give you my version before you do anything you can't undo." Grant leaned forward slightly.
"I think we can resolve this as a family.
Without lawyers.
Without anyone getting hurt."
Silvio set down the folder.
"Grant," he said.
"The children are staying in the east wing tonight.
And tomorrow night.
And every night until I'm satisfied they're safe."
Grant's jaw moved.
"You can't just—"
"I can," Silvio said.
"This is my estate.
My name on the deed.
My father's house." He held Grant's gaze.
"And if you knock on this door again without being invited, I will have you removed from the property tonight."
Grant stood up slowly.
He looked at the folder on the desk.
He couldn't see what was inside it, but he looked at it for a long time.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
"Good night, Grant."
Grant walked to the door.
He stopped with his hand on the frame.
"Lucinda will come back to me," he said.
"She always does.
And when she does, remember that you chose a side."
He left.
Silvio looked at the folder.
May you like
Then he picked up his phone and sent Grace Whitmore a single message: *File tomorrow morning.
Don't wait.*
