My heart drummed fiercely as I hung up the phone. The person I had just called was Brian Mercer, a name I hadn’t had any reason to speak in over two decades. He was the best attorney in the western states when it came to matters involving property disputes, and he had a reputation for being a bulldog in the courtroom. But that wasn’t why I called him. Brian and I had a history, one that Alan Peterson was about to learn about in the hardest way possible.
I leaned against my truck, my mind a whirlpool of thoughts. The betrayal from my daughter cut deeper than the physical blow Alan had delivered. I raised her better than this, to value family over material possessions. And yet, here we were. The man she chose had turned our family celebration into a circus, and she had stood by, frozen and silent.
