The filing went in at 9:14 Monday morning.

By 11:00, Marcus had called four times.

Andre let all four go to voicemail.

Patricia had told him not to engage — anything he said could be used to characterize him as hostile or unstable, and Marcus would be looking for exactly that.

The fifth call came from a number Andre didn't recognize.

He answered it.

"I think it's time you and I spoke directly." The voice was older than Marcus's.

Slower.

Deliberate in the way of someone who had never needed to rush because things had always moved at the pace he set.

"My name is Clifton Greer."

Andre said nothing.

"I understand you've retained Patricia Odom," Clifton said.

"I want you to know I have no ill will toward you personally.

You're a young man who was handed a story by a sick father and told it was the truth.

That's not your fault."

"What do you want, Mr.

Greer?"

"I want to save us both a great deal of time and pain." His voice was even, almost kind.

"Harold was my brother.

I loved him.

Whatever Walter has told you about the will — Walter was not there.

He was estranged from his father for the last four years of Harold's life.

He doesn't know what Harold wanted."

"There are two witnesses who were in the room," Andre said.

A pause.

Shorter than Marcus's pauses.

More controlled.

"Eunice Patton has been telling that story for thirty years to anyone who would listen," Clifton said.

"She told it to Harold's pastor.

She told it to a social worker.

Nobody moved on it because there was nothing there.

And Douglas Pratt — whatever he's told your lawyer — Douglas Pratt has a history of making claims against people who don't pay him what he thinks he's owed."

"That's not what the records show."

"Records can be read many ways." The warmth in his voice had thinned slightly, but only slightly.

He was too practiced to let it go entirely.

"Andre.

I'm going to be honest with you.

I'm seventy-three years old.

I don't want to spend the next two years in depositions.

I don't want to put Eunice through a cross-examination that will be difficult for everyone.

I'm prepared to increase my offer significantly."

"How significantly?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

And I will personally ensure that Rose's remaining personal belongings — the items Marcus filed to transfer — are returned to Walter.

Immediately.

No conditions on that."

Andre walked to the window of Walter's living room.

Walter was in the kitchen, out of earshot.

"You're offering a quarter million dollars and Rose's belongings," Andre said.

"For a property worth one point four million."

"For certainty," Clifton said.

"For speed.

For the ability to move on."

"The ability for you to move on."

"For all of us."

"Mr.

Greer." Andre kept his voice level.

"I want to ask you something directly."

"Go ahead."

"Did you know Harold couldn't understand what he was signing?"

Silence.

It lasted four seconds.

Andre counted.

"Harold understood exactly—"

"Did you know," Andre said again, "that the man whose hand you guided to that signature line did not know what he was agreeing to?"

"I'm not going to sit here and be accused—"

"I'm not accusing you.

I'm asking you." Andre turned from the window.

"Because I think you've spent thirty years telling yourself a story about what happened in that room.

And I think somewhere underneath that story, you know what you did to Rose.

What you took from her.

What she d*ed without."

The line was very quiet.

"You're making a mistake," Clifton said.

The kindness was gone now.

Completely.

"Patricia Odom has lost cases before.

She will lose this one.

And when she does, you will have spent years of your life and every dollar you have on a fight that ends with you having nothing.

I will make sure of that."

"There it is," Andre said.

"Excuse me?"

"That's the real version.

I was wondering when we'd get to it."

A long pause.

"My son will be in touch," Clifton said.

"This conversation is over."

"Yes," Andre said.

"It is."

He ended the call and stood in the quiet living room.

Walter appeared in the doorway.

He had heard enough.

"He threatened you," Walter said.

"He tried to." Andre set his phone on the table.

"He also confirmed something Patricia needed."

"What?"

"She asked me to record any direct contact from Clifton.

She said he might say something useful if he thought he was in control of the conversation." Andre picked up his phone and stopped the recording app.

"He said he would make sure we ended up with nothing.

That's an explicit threat made in the context of active litigation."

Walter stared at him.

"You baited him," Walter said.

"I asked him a question he couldn't answer honestly," Andre said.

"He did the rest himself."

Walter sat down in the armchair by the window.

He pressed his hand over his mouth for a moment.

"Rose would have liked you," he said quietly.

Andre sat down across from him.

"Tell me about her," he said.

"We have time."

And for the next hour, while the legal machinery they had set in motion moved forward without them, Walter talked about his mother — about the way she laughed, about the garden she kept, about the way she used to say that a person's character was visible in how they treated people who couldn't do anything for them.

Andre listened to every word.