Chapter 43 - The Subterranean Probe
The silence following Brenda’s passing lasted less than six weeks before the predictable, parasitic instincts of my younger brother attempted one final, desperate maneuver.
Preston had been living in southern Illinois for nearly four years under the strict parameters of his interstate parole agreement. Under the monitored voucher system Marcus Vance had engineered, our charitable foundation had quietly subsidized a modest one-bedroom apartment directly through his municipal landlord, contingent upon Preston maintaining steady warehouse employment and honoring his lifetime non-molestation covenant.
To a man whose soul was allergic to honest labor, however, an ordinary existence was an intolerable insult.
When the state probate office issued the formal notice of Brenda’s death to all biological heirs, Preston learned that his mother’s personal estate consisted of exactly four hundred and twelve dollars in a restricted nursing home account, which was instantly consumed by state administrative filing fees. To Preston’s warped mind, this was an impossibility. For thirty years, Richard and Brenda had treated him like an untouchable prince; in his delusions, there had to be a secret family vault, a hidden life insurance policy, or a forgotten equity reserve that his older brother had ruthlessly stolen.
Instead of approaching us directly—which would have triggered an immediate ten-year prison sentence under the active criminal protection orders—Preston sought out a fringe, contingency-fee probate litigator in St. Louis named Arthur Sneed.
Sneed was the kind of legal bottom-feeder who specialized in filing frivolous nuisance petitions against wealthy corporate estates, hoping that large firms would offer a twenty-thousand-dollar settlement simply to avoid the legal fees of a trial.
On a frosty Wednesday morning in early December, Marcus Vance walked into my downtown office without an appointment. He dropped a thick, blue-backed petition onto my desk with a dry, amused chuckle.
""Look at what just crawled out of the Mississippi River basin,"" Marcus said, unbuttoning his overcoat.
I picked up the document. The filing was titled: Emergency Petition for Discovery of Concealed Assets and Accounting of the Richard and Brenda Vance Inter Vivos Estates, filed in County Probate Court.
The petition was an absurd, twenty-page work of legal fiction. It alleged that Harrison Vance, utilizing undue influence, corporate coercion, and fraudulent asset transfers, had systematically stripped Richard and Brenda Vance of their generational wealth during their twilight years, depriving their younger, dependent son, Preston Vance, of his rightful familial inheritance. The petition demanded a full forensic audit of Vance Structural Engineering, the Gable Sanctuary Trust, and all private family holdings, along with an emergency injunction freezing our commercial operating accounts.
""Does this clown Sneed actually think a judge will sign this?"" I asked, scanning the sloppy citations.
""Sneed doesn't expect a judge to sign it,"" Marcus replied, his eyes narrowing with predatory satisfaction. ""Preston told him you settle things quietly to protect your corporate reputation. Sneed is gambling on a nuisance payout. He even scheduled a preliminary discovery deposition for next Tuesday in his satellite office across the state line.""
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I closed the file, setting it down with a sharp, decisive tap.
""Confirm the deposition, Marcus,"" I said, a cold, dangerous smile touching my lips. ""And tell Mr. Sneed to make sure Preston is sitting in the room. It’s time to show my brother the true cost of digging up bones.""
