“Naomi,” his voice was warm with recognition. “I’ve been meaning to call since I heard about Nicholas. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, Robert. I need your help with a situation.”
I explained everything. The forgery. The abandonment. The developer. Robert listened without interruption, and when I finished, the silence stretched so long I thought we’d been disconnected.
“I’ll be in Milfield tomorrow morning,” he finally said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “These developers—Platinum Acres—they’ve been on our radar. Naomi, what they’re planning violates at least six environmental regulations. We’ve been looking for a way to stop them.”
“And now you have one,” I said.
“Yes.” I could hear him shuffling papers. “Don’t sign anything before I get there. And Naomi… I’m sorry about your children.”
“I stopped having children three days ago,” I replied. “Now I just have adversaries.”
That night, I sat in Lucille’s kitchen as she closed the bakery, drinking tea and watching her prepare dough for the morning.
“You should try to eat something,” she said, nodding toward the sandwich she’d made me. “You need your strength.”
“I’m not hungry.” I hadn’t had an appetite since Nicholas died. Food was fuel now. Nothing more.
“Heard Melissa’s staying at the Milfield Inn,” Lucille said, kneading with practiced movements. “Brandon’s still at the house. People are talking.”
“Let them talk.”
The small-town grapevine had always annoyed my children, but now it served me. Every move they made, I knew about it within hours.
“Sophia’s article runs tomorrow,” Lucille continued. “Front page. Got a call from the Philadelphia Inquirer, too. They want to pick up the story. Something about the developer having trouble with other projects.”
I nodded, unsurprised. Robert’s call had confirmed what I’d suspected. Platinum Acres had a pattern of targeting vulnerable landowners, particularly the elderly, with promises they never intended to keep.
“Did I do the right thing, raising them the way we did?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Not sentimentality, but a genuine curiosity about where I had failed.
Lucille’s hands stilled in the dough.
“You and Nicholas were good parents, Ellie,” she said softly. “Some people just turn out rotten, no matter the soil they’re planted in.”
I accepted her answer with a nod, pushing away the useless question. It didn’t matter anymore. The past was buried with Nicholas. Only the future—and my revenge—remained.
Morning brought Robert Wilson, impeccably dressed in a suit that probably cost more than three months of Canton Orchard profits, striding into Vincent’s office with two associates trailing behind him.
“Naomi.” He embraced me briefly, then immediately turned to business. “We’ve filed injunctions against Platinum Acres in three counties already. Now we add yours to the list.”
For the next two hours, I watched a master at work. Robert didn’t just understand law; he wielded it like a scalpel—precise and devastating. By noon, he had drafted documents that would not only block the sale, but potentially trigger a state investigation into the developer.
“Your children’s signatures,” he said, sliding papers across Vincent’s desk. “We need them to officially renounce their claims based on the fraudulent will. Vincent says they’re refusing.”
“They’ll sign,” I said with certainty. “They just need the proper motivation.”
I pulled out my phone and made another call—this one to Thomas Winters, Harold’s son and the assistant district attorney for the county.
“Thomas, it’s Naomi Canton. I’d like to discuss pressing criminal charges.”
Robert raised an eyebrow but said nothing as I arranged a meeting for later that afternoon. When I hung up, he nodded approvingly.
Leave a Comment