For the next two hours, I watched a master at work. Robert didn’t just understand law; he wielded it like a scalpel—precise and devastating. By noon, he had drafted documents that would not only block the sale, but potentially trigger a state investigation into the developer.
“Your children’s signatures,” he said, sliding papers across Vincent’s desk. “We need them to officially renounce their claims based on the fraudulent will. Vincent says they’re refusing.”
“They’ll sign,” I said with certainty. “They just need the proper motivation.”
I pulled out my phone and made another call—this one to Thomas Winters, Harold’s son and the assistant district attorney for the county.
“Thomas, it’s Naomi Canton. I’d like to discuss pressing criminal charges.”
Robert raised an eyebrow but said nothing as I arranged a meeting for later that afternoon. When I hung up, he nodded approvingly.
