Chapter 8 - THE CLOSING AT HIGH NOON
The room went dead silent.
Every head turned toward the doorway.
A woman stood in the threshold. She wore a tailored charcoal blazer, crisp dark trousers, and polished black boots. Her dark hair was pulled back into an elegant, severe knot, framing high cheekbones and eyes that burned with cold, unyielding fire. In her right hand was a dark hickory cane with a silver handle.
She took three slow, deliberate, perfectly balanced steps into the room.
Tap. Click. Tap.
Ruth let out a sharp, choked gasp, dropping her designer handbag onto the carpet. Travis took a step backward, his sunglasses slipping down his nose.
Boyd’s pen froze an inch above the paper. His face turned the color of curdled milk.
"L-Lena?" Boyd stammered, his voice cracking. "What... what the hell is this? You’re walking."
"Good morning, Uncle Boyd," I said, my voice ringing out with crystal clarity, filling every corner of the high-ceilinged room. "I heard you were selling my father’s eighty acres today. I thought the rightful owner ought to be present for the signing."
"Get out of here!" Boyd roared, slamming the table as he tried to regain his footing. "You signed the transfer six months ago! You relinquished all rights to the trust under the medical assistance agreement! You’re trespassing on a private commercial closing!"
"Sheriff Miller," Boyd barked, turning toward the lawman. "Remove this girl! She’s mentally unstable!"
Sheriff Miller didn't move an inch. He looked at me, then down at the way I was standing firmly on both feet. "Hold your horses, Boyd. If there’s a dispute on the title, the county is obligated to hear it before the transfer is recorded."
"There is no dispute!" Boyd yelled, his face turning an angry shade of purple. "Wayne Higgins notarized the document! Her signature is right there on the state registry!"
I walked straight to the center of the conference table, laid my hickory cane across the polished mahogany, and unzipped my black leather briefcase.
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"Mr. Higgins did indeed notarize a document," I said calmly, pulling out a stack of laminated forensic sheets and setting them before the Chicago attorneys. "Unfortunately for Boyd, the document he submitted to the county is a criminal forgery."
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