Spencer was twenty-nine, had never held a job longer than five months, and lived in Carla’s guest house in Burlington, where his primary responsibilities were sleeping until noon and ordering things off the internet with her credit card. His most valuable possession was a gaming chair.
Carla laid out her case like a board presentation. The firm was built with her money. The house down payment—she’d given us $30,000 seven years ago and had not stopped mentioning it since. In her mind, she was co-owner of everything Joel ever touched, and now that he was gone, she wanted her investment back with interest.
The only thing she didn’t want was Tessa. She said it so matter-of-factly, like declining a side dish at a restaurant. No, thank you. Not the child. Just the assets.
I stood there holding coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago and said nothing. Not because I agreed, but because my brain couldn’t process losing my husband and being robbed in the same month.
Two days later, a certified letter arrived from Axel Mendler, attorney at law. Carla had filed a formal will contest and a creditor’s claim against Joel’s estate for her $185,000 loan—two legal fronts at once, before Joel’s flowers had even wilted on the grave.
