Mark: Get in the truck, Richard.
Richard: Where are we going?
Mark: We’re going to the ranch. Clara scheduled the family probate meeting for nine o'clock this morning with Arthur, didn't she?
Richard: Yes. They’re signing the preliminary transfer papers today.
Mark: Not anymore.
Mark walked briskly up the porch steps and opened the front door. Sarah was standing in the hallway, pacing back and forth while Toby sat on the rug, playing quietly with a plastic truck.
Sarah: Mark, what is going on? What did Richard say to you?
Mark: Sarah, I need you to stay here with Toby. I’m taking Richard to Dad’s estate right now.
Sarah: Is he in trouble? Are you in danger?
Mark: Clara tried to steal everything, Sarah. The trust fund, the ranch, Mom's ring—everything Dad set aside for Toby.
Sarah: What? Clara?
Mark: Richard has the real will. The valid one. We’re going to stop her from signing the property over to developers today.
Sarah: Oh my God, Mark... go. Go right now. But take our lawyer on speakerphone while you drive!
Mark: Already planning on it.
Mark bent down and scooped Toby up into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. The little boy looked at him with bright, innocent eyes, completely unaware of the massive storm his stubborn morning meltdown had just prevented.
Toby: Papa go car now?
Mark: Yes, buddy. Papa is going to the car now. Thank you for holding my shoes.
Forty minutes later, Mark’s pickup truck pulled up the long, tree-lined gravel driveway of his childhood home. The massive stone house sat at the top of the hill, framed by wide open Texas pasture. Parked out front was a sleek black luxury sedan belonging to Arthur, the estate lawyer.
Richard: You ready for this, Mark? Once we walk through that door, there’s no turning back. Clara will fight dirty.
Mark: Let her try. She stole from my son.
Mark grabbed the thick stack of legal documents and the wax-sealed envelope from the console, stepped out of the truck, and walked up the front steps of the mansion. He didn't knock. He pushed the heavy double doors open and walked straight down the grand entryway toward his father's formal study.
Inside the study, sitting behind the large mahogany desk, was Clara. She was dressed in an elegant black suit, holding a silver pen over a stack of documents. Sitting across from her was Arthur, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses with a cold, professional smile.
Clara: Mark? What are you doing here so early? I thought we agreed to meet at the firm at eleven.
Mark: Put the pen down, Clara.
Arthur: Mark, this is a private legal proceeding regarding your father’s estate. Please wait outside until—
Mark: Shut up, Arthur. You’re done talking.
Richard stepped into the study right behind Mark, shutting the heavy oak doors with a loud, resounding thud that echoed through the room.
Clara: Richard! How dare you step foot in this house! Arthur, call the sheriff immediately! The thief is right here!
Mark: Nobody is calling the sheriff, Clara. Unless it’s to arrest you for grand larceny and fraud.
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