He went on. Calmly. Methodically. He stated that he had received a private investigator’s report documenting Grant’s infidelity. He stated that he believed his daughter’s financial interests required immediate protection. He stated that no one had pressured him and that if anyone later argued otherwise, they were “either ignorant, dishonest, or billing aggressively.”
By the end, even Blackwood looked a little moved, and he had probably watched it six times already.
“That should help,” I said thickly.
“It should annihilate,” he corrected.
The hearing was set for the following Thursday.
In the meantime, my life acquired a strange rhythm. Mornings at the cottage with coffee on the porch, watching fog drag itself off the water. Then calls with lawyers, document requests, financial affidavits, text messages from Aunt Helen that alternated between emotional support and inventive insults for Grant. Afternoons, if I could stand being still, I sorted pieces of the old house. If I couldn’t, I went to the marina.
That was where I met Daniel.