Chapter 12 - The Wolves at the Gate
I drove into downtown Coeur d’Alene with the codicil sitting on the passenger seat like an unexploded ordnance. The autumn wind off the water was whipping whitecaps across the lake, mirroring the storm brewing in my chest.
My attorney, Marcus Kane, was waiting for me in his corner office overlooking the marina. Marcus was sixty-two, a veteran litigator with silver hair and the deadpan, unimpressed demeanor of a man who had watched wealthy families butcher each other over timber land for three decades.
He adjusted his half-moon reading glasses, turned the yellowed pages of the codicil under a high-intensity desk lamp, and didn't speak for five full minutes.
"Where did she get this, Marcus?" I demanded, pacing the length of his mahogany bookshelves. "My grandmother’s estate was closed and finalized four years ago. The lake house was deeded directly to me through a transfer-on-death warranty deed. Evelyn signed the waiver herself after the court caught her skimming Grandma's assisted-living stipend!"
"She did," Marcus said smoothly, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Which means Evelyn didn't dream this up on her own. Look at the signature block, Riley. Who notarized this codicil?"
I leaned over his desk, squinting at the faint purple stamp.
*Notary Public: Thaddeus Sterling.*
A shiver went down my spine. "Sterling? Pastor Sterling’s husband? The ones who run the commercial arm of Living Waters Fellowship?"
"The very same," Marcus said, leaning back and lacing his fingers over his vest. "Thaddeus Sterling isn't just an elder in that church, Riley. He’s the managing partner of North Idaho Capital Holdings. He buys distressed land, converts it into non-profit church retreats, and takes massive tax write-offs while charging six figures for executive spiritual seminars."
The puzzle pieces snapped together with horrifying clarity.
Evelyn hadn't just sought revenge for her public humiliation when I called the police on her moving truck. She had gone to her spiritual masters and offered them my home as a bounty. The lake house sat on two hundred feet of prime shoreline—unencumbered by debt, surrounded by old-growth cedar. It was worth nearly three million dollars on the open market. To a predatory non-profit looking for an executive lakeside compound, it was the holy grail.
"Is the codicil legal?" I asked, my voice dangerously steady.
"On its face? It’s enough to file a lis pendens, which locks your title," Marcus explained grimly. "You can’t sell, you can’t refinance, and if they push for an emergency injunction, a judge might grant them access to conduct an appraisal inventory. Evelyn knows she can't win outright on a six-year-old unverified document. But she doesn't need to win outright. She just needs to drown you in legal fees until you break."
"She thinks I'm still the little girl who gave up her college savings because she cried at the dinner table," I whispered.
May you like
"Then show her you aren't," Marcus said, sliding the file into a manila folder and slamming it shut with a sharp *thwack*. "First rule of asymmetrical warfare, Riley: don't fight the puppet. Go after the puppet master."
***
