Chapter 14 - THE CORNERED BEAST
When Darlene Whitlock discovered that Grandma Edith had amended the trust, removing Grant completely and placing three million dollars under my exclusive control, she finally lost what little sanity she had left.
It happened on a rainy Thursday afternoon in late August.
I was finishing up a catering consultation at my townhouse. My client, a lovely woman named Sarah who was planning her daughter’s first birthday party, had just walked out to her car.
I turned back toward my porch to carry a stack of sample trays inside when a dark sedan sped down my street, screeching to a halt right in front of my driveway.
Grant stepped out of the driver's side. He wasn't wearing a suit. He was wearing faded jeans and a dark hoodie, his eyes wild, bloodshot, and frantic.
"Maren!" he screamed, marching up the driveway. "You ruined my life! You stole my inheritance!"
I immediately pushed the wireless panic button attached to my keychain—a device my lawyer had insisted I carry, linked directly to the local police department.
"Grant, step back!" I yelled, retreating toward my front door. "The police have been notified! You are breaching your bail conditions!"
"I don't give a damn about bail!" Grant roared, his face contorted into a terrifying mask of rage. He reached out and grabbed my arm, slamming me back against the porch railing. "You manipulated my grandmother! You turned my own father against me! My mother is facing jail time because of you!"
The pain in my arm flared, but I didn't freeze like I used to. The terrified woman who had cowered in Darlene's kitchen four days after surgery was gone.
I hauled back my free hand and struck Grant across the face with the heavy stainless-steel sample tray I was carrying.
CRACK!
The metal edge caught him right across the bridge of his nose. Grant let out a choked yell, staggering backward, blood instantly spurting from his nostrils onto his dark hoodie.
"Get off my property!" I screamed, holding the heavy tray like a shield. "Touch me again and I swear to God I'll put you in the hospital!"
Grant stumbled back, clutching his bleeding nose, staring at me in absolute shock. He had never seen me fight back. For eight years, I had been the quiet, accommodating wife who swallowed every insult to keep the peace.
"You... you hit me," Grant stammered, blood dripping between his fingers.
"And I'll do it again!" I shouted, taking a step toward him, lifting the heavy tray higher. "Get out before the cops get here!"
In the distance, the sharp wail of police sirens began to echo through the neighborhood.
Grant looked toward the main road, then looked back at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of terror and utter disbelief. He realized, in that split second, that he no longer had any power over me. None at all.
He turned, scrambled back into his car, and sped away, leaving a trail of rubber on the wet asphalt.
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Five minutes later, three police cruisers arrived. But this time, Grant hadn't escaped. A patrol unit intercepted his sedan three blocks away, pulling him over while he was still bleeding from the nose and driving recklessly.
He was arrested on the spot for felony stalking, domestic assault, and violation of bail terms.
