“On what grounds?” Peggy asked, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.
“He’s arguing that the Milbrook property should be considered a marital asset subject to division. He claims Richard deliberately undervalued it in the will and that you’re entitled to half of the total marital estate while he and his siblings are entitled to the other half. He wants a court to force you to sell the Milbrook property and divide all proceeds four ways.”
Peggy smiled, looking around Richard’s study at the filing cabinets full of documentation.
“Let him try, Marcus. I have documentation showing this property was deeded to me in 1984 as a gift, long before it could be considered any kind of marital asset. Richard set it up very carefully.”
“I know,” Marcus said, his voice warm with approval. “I helped him do it. I just wanted you prepared. Steven’s lawyers are expensive and aggressive. This could get ugly.”
“I’ve lived through 40 years of ugly from those people,” Peggy said. “I can handle this.”
Three days later, a Mercedes appeared on the dirt road leading to the sanctuary. Steven’s car, with Catherine and Michael in it. Peggy watched from an upstairs window as they parked and got out, looking around with expressions that shifted from arrogant confidence to confused uncertainty as they took in the beautiful stone house, the well-maintained grounds, the clear value of the property. She waited until they’d knocked on the door before she came downstairs and opened it calmly.
“Hello, Steven, Catherine, Michael. Would you like to come in?”
They followed her inside, and Peggy watched their faces as they absorbed the interior, the quality furniture, the beautiful architectural details, the photographs of her covering every wall. She let them stand in awkward silence for a moment, then gestured toward the living room.
“Please sit down. I’ll make tea.”
She served them tea in the living room using beautiful china she’d found in the kitchen cabinets, china that had probably belonged to Richard’s uncle Thomas. She was gracious, composed, completely in control of the situation. They had clearly expected to find her desperate and broken. Instead, she was calm, centered, obviously comfortable in this house, radiating quiet power.
Steven cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Peggy, we’ve come to discuss the property situation. We believe there’s been a misunderstanding about Father’s will and this property’s value.”
“Really?” Peggy said, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
“Our father clearly didn’t understand the true value of this property when he left it to you,” Catherine said, her voice taking on the sharp edge it got when she thought she had the upper hand. “Now that we’ve done research and looked into it, we realize this property and land are worth considerably more than anyone knew at the time the will was written. As his children and his primary heirs, we believe we have a legal right to shares of all significant marital assets.”
“This property isn’t a marital asset,” Peggy said calmly. “It was deeded to me in 1984 as a gift from your father, completely separate from our marriage. I have all the documentation to prove it.”
“We don’t believe that’s legally binding,” Michael said, speaking for the first time. “We think any gift of significant value given during a marriage should be considered joint marital property subject to division.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to take me to court,” Peggy said simply. “But before you do that, before you make that decision, I think there’s something you should know.”
She stood and walked to the study, returning with the thick folder labeled with their names. She laid it on the coffee table between them like a weapon.
“This folder contains detailed documentation about the trusts your father actually established for your inheritances. Trusts with conditions and restrictions you’re going to discover very soon when you try to actually access your money. It also contains information about various personal and business matters that you would probably all prefer stayed private.
Your father spent 40 years as one of Boston’s top attorneys and he documented everything he learned about everyone, including his own children. He never used the information. That would have been unethical. But he kept it meticulously organized, and he left it all to me.”
Steven’s face had gone completely pale.