Chapter 6: The Coffee Shop on Marlowe Street
Getting Emily out of the house alone required patience and a small amount of misdirection.
I called Daniel the next morning and told him I wanted to send Emily a small gift — something thoughtful, to welcome me into the family properly.
I asked for her email address.
He gave it without hesitation, which told me he wasn't worried about Emily.
He thought she was managed.
I emailed her that afternoon.
No names in the subject line.
Just a coffee shop address, a time, and four words: *I know about Constance.*
She arrived eleven minutes early.
I was already seated at a corner table, facing the door.
Emily walked in wearing the same long cardigan from the dinner, her hands tucked into the sleeves.
She looked around the room once, found me, and crossed to the table without stopping.
She sat down.
She didn't take off her coat.
"How did you find out?" she said.
No greeting.
No small talk.
"I'm a forensic financial investigator," I said.
"It's what I do."
Something moved across her face — not quite relief, not quite fear.
Something in between.
"They told me you worked in compliance," she said.
"That's what Daniel tells people." I slid a single printed page across the table — just the account transfer summary, nothing else.
"Is this your grandmother's money?"
Emily looked at the page.
Her jaw tightened.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"Did you sign the transfer documents willingly?"
She looked up.
"They told me it was a formality.
That Grandma Constance had structured the inheritance to flow through the family trust eventually anyway.
They said I was just confirming the timeline."
"Did you have independent legal counsel review the documents before you signed?"
"They said Hartwell and Briggs represented the whole family."
"Hartwell and Briggs represented your parents, Emily.
They were never your attorneys."
She stared at the table.
Her hands came out of her sleeves and flattened against the surface — a small, deliberate movement, as if she was steadying herself.
"I was twenty-four," she said.
"I didn't know."
"I know you didn't." I kept my voice level.
"I also know the notarization on those documents is fraudulent.
The notary's commission had expired before the transfer date.
That makes the document legally voidable."
Emily went very still.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means with the right attorney, you may be able to recover your inheritance.
All of it."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Her eyes were the same pale grey as Daniel's, but where his held ease and confidence, hers held something that had been worn down and compressed over years into something very small and very hard.
"Why are you doing this?" she said.
"You're engaged to my brother."
"I was," I said.
"I'm still working out the details of that."
A short, startled sound came out of her — not quite a laugh.
"He knew," she said.
"Daniel.
He didn't just sign the document.
He's the one who told me Hartwell and Briggs were my lawyers too.
He sat across from me at that same table in the basement and told me everything was fine."
I had suspected it.
Hearing it said aloud was different.
"I need you to be willing to speak to an attorney," I said.
"Her name is Patricia Osei.
She's handled cases like this before.
She's good, and she's completely separate from your family's legal network."
"They'll find out."
"Yes," I said.
"Eventually they will.
But by then, we'll be ready."
Emily looked down at the printed page again.
Her finger traced the account number — her grandmother's money, her independence, the life she should have had.
"Constance knew what they were like," Emily said softly.
"That's why she left it to me separately.
She told me once — she said, 'Emily, this is yours.
Don't let them tell you otherwise.'" Her voice didn't break.
It just went very quiet.
"I let them tell me otherwise."
"You were twenty-four and you trusted your family," I said.
"That's not a character flaw.
That's what they counted on."
May you like
She looked up.
"I'll talk to the attorney," she said.
