If Patricia was still legally married to another man when she married Thomas, their marriage was void. The will left everything to my wife Patricia. If she wasn’t his wife, she got nothing. Audrey smiled. It was time to go hunting for Julian Vain.
Three days later, the war came to Audrey’s doorstep. Audrey was in the kitchen of the dilapidated house, scrubbing years of grime off the vintage farmhouse sink. She had used the cash from the bunker to buy supplies, a generator that didn’t cough smoke, and new locks. She hadn’t fixed the exterior yet. She needed Patricia to still think she was living in squalor. The sound of heavy machinery shattered the morning peace. Audrey dropped her sponge and ran to the window. A massive yellow bulldozer was rumbling up her driveway, followed by a black SUV and a sheriff’s cruiser.
“Here we go,” she muttered.
She grabbed the file she had prepared and keyed the radio Silas had given her.
“Silas, they’re here. Code red.”
“On my way,” Silas’s voice crackled back. “And I’m bringing the cavalry.”
Audrey walked out onto the porch. The bulldozer stopped ten yards from the house, its massive blade lowered threateningly. The black SUV door opened and Patricia stepped out. She was wearing stilettos in the mud, looking like a vulture scanning for carrion. Beside her was Arthur Sterling, the family lawyer, looking even more miserable than before. A sheriff’s deputy—Deputy Miller, no relation, just a small-town coincidence—stepped forward. He looked apologetic.
“Ma’am,” the deputy said, tipping his hat. “I have a court order here signed by Judge Halloway. This structure has been deemed an immediate public safety hazard. It’s condemned. You have ten minutes to vacate the premises before demolition begins.”
Patricia smirked, crossing her arms.
“I told you, Audrey, it’s a liability. I’m doing you a favor. We’ll knock it down, and I’ll buy the empty lot for, let’s say, twenty thousand, now.”
Audrey didn’t move. She didn’t look at the deputy. She looked straight at Patricia.
“You bribed Judge Halloway,” Audrey said calmly. “Just like you bribed the zoning commissioner in Bellevue last year.”
Patricia’s eyes widened, then narrowed.
“Careful, honey. That’s slander.”
“It’s not slander if I have the wire-transfer receipts,” Audrey said, her voice carrying over the rumble of the bulldozer.
Patricia scoffed.
“You’re delusional. Deputy, remove her.”
The deputy stepped onto the first stair.
“Miss Miller, please don’t make this hard. Just then, a rusted Ford pickup truck roared up the driveway, cutting across the lawn and sliding to a halt between the bulldozer and the porch. The door kicked open, and out stepped a man who looked like he had been tumbled into a suit two sizes too big. He had wild gray hair and a lit cigar clamped between his teeth.
“Hold your horses,” the man bellowed, waving a sheaf of papers. “Nobody touches this house unless they want a federal lawsuit tailored to fit right up their assets.”
Patricia recoiled.
“Who the hell is this?”
“I’m Bernie ‘the Pitbull’ Koslowski,” the man announced, marching up to the deputy. “And I represent Miss Audrey Miller. And this is an emergency injunction from the state Supreme Court overriding your local municipal judge’s demolition order on the grounds of historical preservation. Voila—pending an architectural review.”
Bernie slapped the papers into the deputy’s chest.
“Historical preservation?” Patricia shrieked. “It’s a shack.”
“It’s a 1920s Craftsman built by the founder of this county,” Bernie corrected, grinning with yellow teeth. “Or at least that’s what we filed. It’ll take six months to process. Until then, if that dozer moves one inch closer, I will sue the county, the construction company, and you, lady, for destruction of evidence.”
Patricia turned purple. She marched up to Audrey, ignoring the mud splattering her legs.
“You think you’re clever,” Patricia hissed, lowering her voice so only Audrey could hear. “You think a cheap lawyer and a few legal tricks can stop me? I have millions, Audrey. I can bleed you dry in court fees before the year is out. I will bury you.”
Audrey leaned in close. She smelled Patricia’s expensive perfume, a scent that used to make her nauseous with fear. Now it just smelled like desperation.
“You don’t have millions, Patricia,” Audrey whispered. “You have debt. I know about the margin calls. I know the Cabo house is already in foreclosure. You’re not here because you hate me. You’re here because you’re broke.”
Patricia froze. The color drained from her face faster than the blood from a wound.
“How?” Patricia stammered. “Who told you?”
“Dad told me,” Audrey said coldly. “Get off my property and tell Chad I said hello to Vargas.”
Patricia stumbled back, looking at Audrey as if she were a ghost. She turned to the deputy.
“We’re leaving.”
“But Mrs. Miller, the order—” the deputy started.
“I said we are leaving!” Patricia screamed, her voice cracking.
She scrambled into the SUV. As the convoy retreated down the driveway, Bernie, the lawyer, took a puff of his cigar and looked at Audrey.
“Kid,” he said, “I don’t know what you said to her, but that woman looked like she just saw her own autopsy photos. That was beautiful.”
“It’s not over, Bernie,” Audrey said, her hands trembling now that the adrenaline was fading. “She’s cornered. Animals are most dangerous when they are cornered.”
“So what’s the next move?” Silas asked, stepping out from the shadows of the porch with his shotgun, which he had thankfully kept out of sight.
Audrey pulled out a photo she had printed from the bunker files. It was a mug shot of a man with slicked-back hair and a weak chin.
“Bernie,” Audrey said, “how fast can we get to Reno, Nevada?”
Bernie looked at the photo.
“Julian Vain, the con artist. Why do we want him?”
