Chapter 7 - The Line in the Granite
Rebecca did not blink. "You're trespassing on private business, Mr. Sterling. The deal you signed with Darren was executed under fraudulent pretenses using a forged quitclaim deed. You don't own so much as a pebble on my family's ridge."
Sterling gave a thin, patronizing smile, pulling a fountain pen from his breast pocket and tapping it against his palm. "Mrs. Lawson, I understand you are in mourning, and I offer my condolences for your boy. Truly. But business is business. Blackwood Crest has already disbursed an initial one-million-dollar non-refundable deposit into an escrow account linked to Crestline Holdings. Furthermore, we hold option agreements on three adjacent parcels. The Lawson ridge is the keystone for our master-planned alpine resort."
"An escrow account Darren used to purchase luxury sports cars and payoff gambling debts in Reno," Arthur countered fiercely. "You didn't perform due diligence, Sterling. You knew damn well Darren didn't have sole title, but your syndicate pushed the sale anyway because you wanted to acquire five hundred years of old-growth timber at pennies on the dollar."
Sterling’s smile vanished, replaced by an icy, corporate glare. "We have title insurance, Mr. Ward. We have an army of litigators who will tie this land up in probate, federal civil court, and appeals for the next twelve years. You will spend every dollar of your family’s inheritance just trying to pay property taxes while your land sits locked in an injunction. Or..." He leaned forward, placing a certified cashier’s check on the table. "...you accept a settlement. Three million dollars directly to you, Mrs. Lawson. Clean, untaxed, immediate. You take the money, you move away from the memories that haunt that house, and you start fresh."
Rebecca looked down at the paper. Three million dollars. Enough to live in luxury anywhere in the world. Enough to never worry about money again.
She reached out, picked up the check, and held it between her thumb and forefinger.
Sterling smirked, leaning back as if the matter were settled. "A wise decision, Mrs. Lawson. Pragmatism always triumphs over sentiment."
With deliberate slowness, Rebecca tore the check in half.
Then she tore the halves into quarters.
She let the shredded pieces flutter down onto Sterling’s polished Italian leather shoes.
"My great-great-grandfather planted those orchards with his bare hands after the Gold Rush," Rebecca said, her voice ringing clear and steady through the office. "My father died defending that ridge from developers like you. And my son Toby’s laughter is carried on every breeze that moves through those pines. You will not build a clubhouse over his memory. You will not cut down one single tree. Take your lawyers and get off this mountain before I have the sheriff escort you out in handcuffs for corporate fraud."
Sterling’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with sudden, venomous hostility. "You're making a catastrophic mistake, Mrs. Lawson. Darren was the soft one. You think you’re safe in that old house alone?"
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Arthur slammed his fist on the table. "Get out of my office, Sterling, before I have you arrested for witness intimidation under California Penal Code 136.1!"
Sterling adjusted his cuffs, shot Rebecca a lethal look, and walked out without another word.
