Chapter 2 - The Timber Tracts
Elena didn’t answer right away. She set her bag down on the floor with a soft thud, her hands trembling as she reached down to smooth Leo’s jacket, though the boy was still fast asleep against her shoulder. The warmth seemed to drain entirely from the hallway.
“My brother didn’t call about timber,” Elena said, her voice small but remarkably steady. “He called because my mother’s roof collapsed after the February storms, and he wanted to know if I could help pay for the repairs out of the stipend Liam left in my personal account.”
Beatrice let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t insult Raymond’s intelligence with home repairs. I saw the phone logs from the guest house router. The call lasted twenty-two minutes. They were discussing the secondary trust allocations—allocations that your family has no legal claim to.”
“You hacked the router logs?” I asked, looking at my sister with a sudden, sharp clarity.
“I monitor the estate’s network security,” Beatrice corrected smoothly, though a faint flush crept up her neck. “It’s my job to know when outsiders start sniffing around Vance assets. The moment Liam died, your phone started ringing with calls from Ohio. Small-town mechanics and schoolteachers suddenly taking a deep interest in New York probate law.”
“My family didn’t ask about New York law,” Elena said, her voice rising now, fueled by a quiet, long-suppressed anger. She shifted Leo carefully, her eyes locking onto Beatrice with a fierce intensity I hadn’t seen before. “They didn’t even know what a secondary trust was until you sent a lawyer to my mother’s house last November offering her ten thousand dollars to sign a release waiving any future contact with Leo.”
The room went dead silent.
I turned slowly to face my sister. “You sent someone to Ohio?”
Beatrice didn’t flinch, though she avoided my eyes for a fraction of a second. “I did what was necessary to protect the child’s future from being bled dry by distant relatives with zero financial literacy. You weren’t paying attention, Raymond. You were flying back and forth to London, burying yourself in international mergers while the estate’s perimeter was vulnerable.”
“That wasn’t your call to make,” I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous calm.
“Someone had to make it!” Beatrice shouted, finally losing her composure. The polished veneer cracked completely. “You think Liam was infallible? He was reckless. He joined that training regiment because he wanted to prove something to you—that he wasn't just a rich man’s son living off dividends. He died because he had a point to prove, and he left behind a wife who doesn't even know how to balance a checkbook without my assistant holding her hand!”
“That is enough,” I said.
The command in my voice carried the weight of thirty years running the family’s shipping enterprise. Beatrice blinked, shocked into momentary silence.
I turned back to Arthur. “Verify the phone log claim. Find out who Beatrice sent to Ohio and what documents were presented to Elena’s mother.”
“Right away, Raymond,” Arthur said quietly, closing his leather folder.
“And Elena,” I continued, softening my tone as I looked at my daughter-in-law. “You and Leo are staying in the main house tonight. Not the guest house. The east wing. My room is at the end of the hall; nobody comes down that corridor without my permission.”
Elena looked hesitant, her eyes flickering toward the stairs. “Raymond, I don’t want to cause a turf war. If Beatrice wants the estate so badly—”
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“This isn’t about turf,” I interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “This is about truth. And it looks like neither of us has been getting the whole story.”
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