Page 123 of What Remains of Grace

IN EXCHANGE FOR: QUITCLAIM DEED CONVEYING PLAINTIFF’S ENTIRE INTEREST IN THE REAL PROPERTY LOCATED AT 107 ATHENS ST S AND THE COMMERCIAL PROPERTY KNOWN AS THE BLUE CYPRESS BAKERY, LOCATED AT 108 ATHENS ST S

“Including all the fees, that’s all of the rally money,” Jenna said quietly. “And my savings. And the line of credit.”

“It is almost exactly the amount you can comfortably assemble without mortgaging your soul,” Ramirez said. “Which is why we picked it. It’s also a very appealing number to a plaintiff who’s already received a substantial life insurance payout and liquidated two vehicles. My strong expectation is that his counsel will advise him to take the bird in the hand.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Jenna asked.

“Then we proceed to a contested partition hearing,” Ramirez said. “We make our equitable credit arguments at full volume. We litigate. That is our right. But . . . based on the communications I’ve had with opposing counsel, I don’t think we’ll need to.”

As if on cue, the door at the end of the hall opened, and Troy walked in with his attorney.

He looked smaller in person than he had in her memory. Maybe it was the suit, maybe it was the harsh fluorescent light. Maybe it was simply time. His hair was thinner. His gut was thicker. His mouth still had that easy, charming curve that had once made her sister’s eyes spark.

Now, it just made Jenna’s stomach roll.

He glanced up, saw them, and offered a little half-smile like they were old friends meeting at a reunion.

“Ms. Hart,” his lawyer said, nodding. “Ms. Cruz.” He was tall and blandly pleasant, carrying a slim briefcase instead of the mountain of paper Ramirez had.

“Counsel,” Ramirez replied coolly.

Troy looked her up and down with the cool detachment of someone evaluating a thing he once damaged and left behind.

“You look good, Jen,” he said. “Stress suits you.”

Emmie’s leg stopped bouncing. “That’s interesting,” she said, “because you look terrible.”

“Em,” Jenna said softly.

Troy’s attorney cleared his throat. “Let’s keep this civil, please.”

Emmie leaned forward, eyes sharp.

“Civil? Is that what we’re doing now?” she asked. “All he’s ever done is cause stress and drain this family. You took everything my mom had. And now that she’s gone, you’re here to take from me and Aunt Jenna, too.”

Ramirez laid a light hand on Emmie’s arm, a silent not yet. Emmie gave a nod of understanding.

“We’ve reviewed your client’s proposal,” Troy’s lawyer said to Ramirez. “My client is prepared to put the terms on the record and join in a global stipulated judgment.”

“So he’s taking the deal,” Emmie translated, eyes never leaving Troy’s face.

Troy spread his hands. “I’m a reasonable guy.”

“No,” Emmie said. “You’re a greedy guy with a short attention span. Those aren’t the same.”

“Enough,” Jenna said, although there was a sliver of satisfaction in watching him flinch.

A bailiff opened the double doors to the courtroom. “Bailey versus Hart and Cruz,” he called. “Partition action. Counsel and parties, you’re up.”

Jenna’s heart thudded.

This was it.

She stood, smoothed the front of her blazer, and followed Ramirez into the cool, wood-paneled courtroom. Emmie walked on her other side, shoulders squared.

They took their seats at the defendants’ table. Troy and his lawyer sat opposite. The bailiff intoned, “All rise,” and everyone stood as Judge Collins entered and took her place on the bench.

Judge Collins was in her late fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled back, glasses on a chain. She looked over the file with the weary familiarity of someone who had seen every kind of family fight imaginable.