Chapter 5 - The Smear Campaign
By Boxing Day morning, Sloan had gone to war.
I turned my phone back on while sitting in a booth at the diner across from our motel, watching Laya pour syrup over a stack of silver-dollar pancakes. The notifications cascaded down the screen like a broken slot machine.
Sloan hadn't wasted any time. She had bypassed the courts and gone straight to Facebook, where she enjoyed an audience of three thousand local followers who thought she was a self-made entrepreneur and community angel.
Her post had been shared over two hundred times:
*“Heartbroken doesn’t begin to describe today. When family turns on you, where do you go? My sister Clara, who we took in out of the kindness of our hearts after her husband’s passing, has decided to use forged financial documents to try and evict our elderly parents from the home they built with their own hands. On Christmas Eve, no less. Please pray for my family during this unimaginable betrayal. Some people are consumed by greed.”*
Beneath it were dozens of comments from family friends, distant cousins, and high school acquaintances.
*“Unbelievable. Clara was always jealous of you, Sloan.”*
*“Throwing her own parents out in winter? Despicable.”*
*“Call the police! This has to be elder abuse!”*
My hands shook, not with fear, but with the cold fury that had been building inside me for months.
“Mommy, look,” Laya said, holding up a pancake she had cut into a triangle. “It's a sailboat.”
I forced a smile, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s a beautiful sailboat, honey.”
I pulled out my contacts and dialed Marcus Vance. Marcus wasn't just any attorney; he was Mark's former law partner and a ruthless litigator who specialized in estate disputes.
The line rang twice before Marcus’s deep voice boomed through the speaker. “Clara. I saw the Facebook post. My wife sent it to me ten minutes ago. Tell me you didn't sign anything.”
“I didn't sign anything, Marcus,” I said, keeping my voice level. “They kicked Laya and me out on Christmas Eve. Threw our coats at us before dinner was even served.”
There was a long silence on the other end, followed by the sound of a pen tapping against a wooden desk.
“Good,” Marcus said softly. “Because I've been waiting eighteen months for you to take the gloves off. Where are you?”
“At the Bluebell Motel off Highway 9.”
“Stay there. Don't respond to the post. Don't reply to their texts. I’m sending a formal cease-and-desist to Sloan for defamation by noon, and by three o'clock, I’m filing the expedited eviction papers with the county court.”
“Marcus,” I hesitated, watching Laya trace circles on the table. “Trent’s involved too. Did you check the account numbers Mark left in the safe?”
May you like
“Oh, I did,” Marcus chuckled coldly. “And Clara? Trent isn't just broke. He’s about to have a very uncomfortable conversation with the district attorney.”
***
