“Keep your money, Eleanor,” I said, my voice entirely calm, entirely steady. “And get the hell out of my house.”
Eleanor’s face contorted in rage. “You stupid, arrogant boy! I am offering you a lifeline! If I take this to court, I will ruin you, and I will take them anyway!”
“You won’t take anything,” a sharp, authoritative voice spoke from the open doorway.
We all turned to see Marcus standing there. Marcus was my older cousin, but more importantly, he was a senior partner at one of the top family law firms in the city. I had called him the second I saw Eleanor walking up the driveway on our building’s security feed. He walked in, holding a thick manila folder.
“Ah, Eleanor. Still as charmingly short-sighted as ever,” Marcus said, placing the folder down on the kitchen table.
“Marcus?” Eleanor stammered, her composure cracking for the first time. “This is a family matter. Stay out of it.”
