Chapter 9 - The Trap is Set
Monday morning arrived crisp and clear.
The meeting took place on the twenty-sixth floor of a premier high-rise downtown—not in my office, and not in Victor Baines's office, but in a neutral corporate conference room hired by Naomi.
When the elevator doors parted, Celia and Bernard Holloway stepped out looking like conquerors. Celia was clad in a winter-white designer power suit with gold buttons, holding a plush leather handbag. Bernard wore his finest dark navy blazer, his chest puffed out like a peacock.
Beside them walked Victor Baines, a slick, forty-something attorney with sharply slicked-back hair, carrying a thin leather briefcase. Baines looked confident, but as he stepped into the room and saw Naomi Feld sitting at the head of the long glass table flanked by three junior associates and two forensic auditors, his posture stiffened.
Baines knew Naomi. Every corporate lawyer in the state feared Naomi.
"Naomi," Baines said, adjusting his tie as he took a seat. "I didn't realize you were handling probate matters for Mrs. Holloway."
"I handle all matters where my client's interests require absolute legal precision, Victor," Naomi replied, her voice smooth as silk.
Celia sat down, placing her handbag on the pristine table with a loud thud. She didn't look at Naomi; she stared directly at me with cold, contemptuous triumph.
"Let's skip the theatricals," Celia announced loudly. "We are here to claim what belongs to our family. Grant's estate, his business share, his luxury properties, and all associated capital. We know you've been trying to hoard it, Elise, but Victor has made it clear that parents have rights."
Baines cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Mrs. Holloway, as I explained in the car, we first need to establish whether a formal will exists—"
"We don't need a lecture, Victor!" Celia snapped, turning her harsh gaze on her own lawyer. "Grant told us repeatedly that he owned half of everything this woman built. She's here to surrender it because she knows we'll sue her into the pavement if she doesn't!"
I sat across from her, my hands resting lightly on the table.
"Celia," I said softly, "I want to be clear. You are demanding absolute, unconditioned transfer of Grant's complete estate?"
"Yes!" she hissed. "Every asset, every ledger, every investment, every claim!"
"And you, Bernard?" I asked, turning to my father-in-law. "You agree with this demand?"
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"I sign off on whatever my wife demands," Bernard grunted, leaning forward. "Grant was our son. His wealth is our legacy. Hand over the documents."
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