“Yes, Martin. Of a dinner conversation last night. One-party consent state. Perfectly admissible. Would you like me to play you the part where your client stammers through his non-explanation?”
His tone shifted at once, becoming slicker, more conciliatory.
“Ms. Klein, surely we can resolve this without dragging these fine families through the mud. My clients are willing to buy out Ms. Lawson’s beneficial interest at the original contribution amount, one hundred twenty thousand dollars. A clean break.”
I felt a surge of nausea. They wanted to give me back my initial money and keep the property, the appreciation, everything. Chloe laughed, a short, sharp sound.
“Not a chance. The demand stands. Full title correction. Forty-eight hours. The clock started an hour ago.”
She hung up, then looked at me.
“They’re scared. The recording changes everything. Now they’ll try to go around me. They’ll call you. They’ll beg. They’ll threaten. You say one thing. Talk to my lawyer. Then hang up. Understood?”
My phone buzzed in my hand. Daniel. I showed the screen to Chloe.
“Do it.”
I answered and put him on speaker.
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“Emily, wait, please just listen.” His voice was ragged, panicked. “You can’t do this. You recorded my family at a private dinner. That’s sick.”
“Talk to my lawyer,” I repeated, my voice monotone.
“My dad is talking about suing you for defamation. Henderson says you have no case. They’ll ruin you. You’ll never work in this town again.”
Chloe mouthed threat and pointed to her phone, already recording the call.
“Is that a threat regarding my professional livelihood, Daniel?” I asked, making my voice coldly curious. “Because my lawyer is listening, and that’s legally very interesting.”
He gasped, realizing too late that he had stepped into another trap.
“I didn’t—I just mean… God, Emily, this is all a mistake. Just come home. We can fix this. I’ll fix the trust thing.”
“How?” I asked. “By asking your daddy to sign his half back over? And then what? I become the Keeper of the Heart? No, thanks. Talk to my lawyer.”
“You’re being unreasonable. It’s just a house. It’s just some paperwork. Why are you destroying our future over paperwork?”
The sheer, staggering ignorance of the question took my breath away.
“It’s not paperwork, Daniel. It’s respect. It’s integrity. You have none. Talk to my lawyer.”
And I ended the call.
Chloe gave a low whistle.
“Beautiful. He just gift-wrapped an extortion and coercion argument for us.”
Her computer chimed. She looked at the screen, and her smirk faded.
“Well. Jessica didn’t wait for the Tribune. She posted.”
Chloe turned the monitor toward me. It was a Facebook post, shared publicly by Jessica Wright.
“To all our friends who witnessed such ugliness at what should have been a joyful occasion. Some people enter a family with open hearts. Others come with calculators and tape recorders. My brother’s heart is broken by a woman who valued property over partnership and who violates the sanctity of a family dinner with secret recordings. We pray for her. #FamilyFirst #TrueLoveDoesntKeepScore”
It already had over a hundred hearts and angry-face emojis. The comments were flooding in. So awful, Jess. You tried to welcome her. A tape recorder? Psycho behavior. Daniel dodged a bullet.
My face burned. The misrepresentation was breathtaking.
“Right on schedule,” Chloe said, cracking her knuckles. “Now we release our statement. Not from you. From me.”
