Chapter 2 - THE LAWYER WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Prescott’s country house sat behind mesquite trees and a cattle gate, far enough from Phoenix to feel detached from the city’s polished lies.
Arthur Prescott was seventy-two, still ramrod-straight, still wearing pressed khakis and a blue button-down as if he had stepped out of a courtroom only moments earlier. He had been the Kincaid family lawyer since before Desmond was born. He had known Desmond’s late parents, drafted the company’s early contracts, and once taught him how to shake hands without giving away nerves.
Now he took one look at Desmond and said, “You’re not hurt.”
“Not physically.”
Prescott led him inside, locked the door, and poured coffee neither of them touched.
“Start from the beginning.”
Desmond did.
Toby. The warning. The name Paul. Celeste at the window. The false sweetness in her voice. Every detail.
Prescott listened without interrupting.
When Desmond finished, the older man made two calls. One went to a retired mechanic named Ed Rourke who had maintained Prescott’s vehicles for years. The other went to a former state trooper now working private investigations.
Within forty-five minutes, Ed was on the line.
“The front hydraulic brake line has a clean cut,” he said. “Not wear. Not damage from road debris. Somebody sliced it.”
That should have felt clarifying.
Instead it made the world more dangerous.
Desmond stood motionless at Prescott’s study window.
“She tried to murder me.”
“Yes,” Prescott said bluntly. “And that is not even the worst of it.”
Desmond turned. “Then tell me what the hell you meant.”
Prescott opened a locked drawer and removed a sealed cream envelope with Desmond’s full name typed across the front.
“My mother’s stationery.”
“Yes.”
Desmond’s mother, Eleanor Kincaid, had died three years earlier. Elegant, unsentimental, and observant to the point of intimidation, she had loved her son fiercely but never gently.
“She left this with instructions,” Prescott said. “I was only to give it to you if one of two things happened: either you reached forty-five unmarried and under direct board challenge… or there was credible evidence that your spouse posed a threat to your life.”
Desmond stared at the envelope without touching it.
“How long have you had that?”
“Three years.”
“You’re telling me my mother predicted my wife might try to kill me?”
“No,” Prescott said. “I’m telling you your mother never fully trusted Celeste.”
Desmond broke the seal.
Inside was a letter in Eleanor’s sharp handwriting and a second smaller sealed packet labeled TRUST SCHEDULE B — CONTINGENT HEIR MATTER.
His chest tightened.
“What is this?”
Prescott held his gaze.
“The reason Celeste is not merely trying to make you disappear,” he said. “The reason she also wanted the boy found.”
Desmond looked down again at the packet.
May you like
And for the first time that morning, fear gave way to something stranger.
Confusion.
