Chapter 4 - Confrontation at the Gate
Bridget and Evelyn were sitting on their packed suitcases in the entryway. Connor was sitting on a lawn chair outside, playing on a brand-new iPad—an iPad bought, no doubt, with the grocery allowance I had left on the kitchen counter.
"We are waiting for Patrick to call us back," Evelyn said, her voice tight, refusing to look me in the eye. "He is driving down here right now to settle this."
"Patrick is two hours away," I said, stepping onto the porch. "And by the time he arrives, the lock on the front gate will be changed."
"You have no right!" Bridget yelled, standing up and marching toward me, her arms crossed. "This is family property!"
"It is my property," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the screen to bring up my security camera log. "And since you brought up rights, Evelyn, let's talk about the two men in grey suits who visited the south field on July 18th."
Evelyn went instantly, visibly frozen. The color drained from her cheeks so fast her skin took on the greyish hue of wet ashes.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, her voice losing its icy authority.
"Their names are Miller and Vance," I said, bluffing slightly based on the local real estate signs I had seen down the road, but watching her reaction carefully. "They represent the local agricultural development group. You told them you were authorized to negotiate the sale of the three-acre parcel near the creek."
Bridget turned to her mother, her mouth opening in genuine shock. "Mom? What is she talking about?"
"She's lying!" Evelyn sputtered, though her fingers were trembling violently as she clutched her handbag. "She's making things up to turn Patrick against us!"
"Luke wrote down every single detail in his journal, Evelyn," I said, holding up the green notebook. "He recorded the date, the men, the paper you signed, and your conversation with Bridget about using forty thousand dollars of my land money to buy a condo in Boca Raton."
Bridget looked at her mother, her expression shifting from defense to sudden, ugly comprehension. "Mom... you told me that money was coming from Uncle Harry’s trust!"
"Shut up, Bridget!" Evelyn snapped, her composure shattering completely.
"I’ve already alerted my attorney," I said, stepping off the porch toward my car. "And if those men set foot on my property again with a fraudulent purchase agreement signed by a woman whose name appears nowhere on the deed, I will file formal grand larceny and fraud charges with the Adams County Sheriff's Department."
A black sedan pulled up the gravel driveway. It was the private car service I had hired twenty minutes earlier from town.
The driver got out, popped the trunk, and looked at the suitcases on the porch.
"Your ride is here," I told them. "Get your bags, get your child, and get off my land."
Evelyn stood up slowly, leaning heavily against the wooden porch railing. She looked at me—not with anger anymore, but with the desperate, panicked eyes of a woman who had spent decades manipulating her family and had finally run headfirst into an unmovable wall.
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"Megan..." Evelyn whispered, her voice cracking. "Patrick will leave you for this."
"If Patrick chooses a mother who starves his son and steals his wife's inheritance," I said, opening the car door for my boy, "then he was never really my husband to begin with."
