She Stole My Milk. Then Her Lawyer Sent a Demand Letter.
The plan was incredibly risky, but I had absolutely nothing left to lose.
I called Preston's office the next morning. When he finally answered, I made sure my voice trembled. I sounded defeated, broken, and entirely desperate.
"Preston, it's Mike Bennett," I rasped. "My bank accounts are frozen. I can't buy supplies. I'm going to lose my business."
"Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry to hear that," Preston purred, though I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Financial distress is a terrible burden."
"I give up," I said, forcing a heavy sigh. "I can't fight you people. I want to discuss a bankruptcy liquidation and signing the house over to you. Just clear my name."
"A wise choice," Preston said smoothly. "I can be at your house at six o'clock this evening to finalize the asset transfer."
As soon as I hung up, Joanne and I got to work. She had brought a high-tech, micro-recording device from an investigator she knew. We taped it directly beneath the center of my kitchen island.
At exactly 6:00 PM, a sleek black Mercedes pulled into my driveway.
Preston stepped out, wearing a sharply tailored suit and a triumphant grin. The humble, apologetic son routine was completely gone.
"Mike," he said, stepping into my living room and looking around with disgust. "Let's get this over with. The smell of cheap laminate flooring offends me."
"You told me that paper was a mutual release," I said, leaning against the counter to keep him near the microphone.
Preston laughed out loud, tossing his briefcase onto my counter. "And you believed me. That’s the problem with you blue-collar guys. You don't understand the power of a signature."
"Your mother wasn't even hurt," I pushed, keeping my voice low and defeated. "She faked that heart attack."
"Of course she did," Preston sneered, opening his briefcase. "My mother has the cardiovascular health of a marathon runner. But my pet doctor down at the clinic writes very convincing financial records and medical charts for the right price."