Chapter 18 - Unraveling the Estate
Three months later.
The early spring sun warmed the damp earth as a yellow excavator cleared the blackened debris from our four acres on Oak Creek Lane.
The state had moved with surprising speed. Because Julian had signed the confession and waived all rights to our marital assets, the courts awarded me full, unfettered conservatorship over the entire estate.
With Victoria Sterling’s accounts seized by the Department of Justice, the restitution court ruled that the three million dollars in cashier's checks Julian had hidden in Wilmington were to be transferred directly into an irrevocable trust for Lily’s education and medical care.
Northfield Mutual, desperate to avoid a catastrophic bad-faith lawsuit for nearly paying out a fraudulent policy, settled with me out of court for the full replacement value of the home, plus a substantial damages payout.
I was standing near the property line, watching the backhoe lift the cracked concrete foundation of the master bedroom—the spot where Julian had placed that propane cylinder.
Marcus walked up the drive, wearing his new uniform. With Sheriff Cooper awaiting federal trial for racketeering, the county commissioners had appointed Marcus as the acting interim sheriff.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Marcus said, offering me a warm travel mug of coffee.
“Thanks, Marcus,” I smiled, taking the cup. “How’s the transition going?”
“Cleaning house,” Marcus replied, leaning against the wooden fence post. “Half the senior command staff took early retirement rather than face the state ethics board. We’re rebuilding the department from scratch.”
“Rebuilding seems to be the theme of the season,” I said, looking out over the cleared land.
“Are you going to sell the lot?” Marcus asked gently.
I looked at the ancient oak trees standing tall and untouched at the back of the property. My father had loved those trees. He had taught me how to identify cedar waxwings and red-tailed hawks in those branches when I was Lily’s age.
“No,” I said firmly. “Julian tried to erase this place. If I sell it, he wins. He takes away the dirt my father gave me.”
“So what’s the plan?”
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“I hired an architect,” I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in ninety days. “We’re breaking ground on a new house in three weeks. Single story. No crawlspace. Just solid, unshakeable stone.”
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