“Freeze any new discretionary funding,” I said. “No retaliation. No interference with client work. Just no new money from me.”
“That we can do.”
At 3:36 a.m., the last notice was ready.
I signed electronically where appropriate and by hand where required. My attorney arranged delivery and confirmation for the morning.
Then I took off my broken glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose.
The house was silent.
Seventy unlit candles still stood downstairs.
I did not sleep.
At 6:12, Valerie called.
I watched her name flash across the phone and let it ring.
At 6:14, she called again.
At 6:17, Richard called.
I answered him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You were at dinner.”
“No, I mean the accounts. Valerie says cards stopped working and someone from the trust emailed about the house.”
I closed my eyes.
“You watched her hit me.”
His breath caught.
“I know.”
“And you stayed in your chair.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“That seems to be contagious.”
He went silent.
I told him the property trust would communicate through counsel and that no one was being thrown onto the street that morning. There would be formal notice. They would have time to make arrangements.
Then I added, “Do not mistake time for permission to ignore this.”
He whispered that he understood.
Valerie did not.
Her first voicemail accused me of emotional abuse.
Her second demanded that I restore access to the accounts before she had to explain declined charges.
