Chapter 6: A Visit from the Past
The following Saturday brought an unexpected visitor who bypassed the legal threats entirely. The doorbell rang just as Richard and Arthur were finishing up lunch. When Richard opened the door, he found standing on the threshold a tall, silver-haired man wearing a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches—Uncle David, Clara’s estranged brother who lived two counties over and had not spoken to the family in over a decade.
"May I come in, Richard?" David asked, his voice carrying the deep, gravelly timbre of an old radio announcer. "Or are you throwing frying pans at guests these days?"
Richard stared at him for a long moment before stepping back to widen the doorway. "Depends on who's visiting, David. Come on in."
David stepped into the foyer, his keen eyes taking in the repaired wall near the dining room where the plaster had been patched and painted over. He set a worn leather briefcase on the hall table and removed his woolen scarf.
"I heard about Sunday," David said, walking into the living room and sitting down in the wingback chair without waiting for an invitation. "Clara called me in a blind rage, claiming you'd gone completely mad and thrown her down the stairs. Of course, knowing my sister, I subtracted about ninety percent of the drama before listening to the rest."
Richard crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "She didn't fall down the stairs, David. She tripped over her own anger after trying to bully Arthur into serving guests while he was holding a heavy pan. I lost my temper. I won't deny that. But she had it coming."
David chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Clara has always ruled this family like a Prussian general. It was only a matter of time before someone blew up the barracks. But you need to know what you're walking into. She has retained Marcus Vance. That man doesn't lose civil suits because he doesn't care about ethics—he cares about billable hours and breaking his opponents."
May you like
Arthur walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee, setting them down carefully on the coffee table. David looked up at the boy, his expression softening considerably.
"You've grown up, Arthur. You have your father's eyes," David said gently. Then, looking back at Richard, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded yellow envelope. "Clara thinks she has sole custody of the family legacy. She forgot about the codicil your father signed back in ninety-eight, the one naming you sole trustee, Richard. I kept a certified copy in my office safe just in case she tried this exact stunt."
