Spencer wore a new navy blazer. I noticed the price tag was still tucked inside the collar, hanging against the back of his neck like a little white flag of surrender. Nobody told him. I certainly wasn’t going to.
The documents were straightforward. I, Miriam Friedel, hereby transfer all claims to the estate assets of Joel Friedel, including but not limited to the law practice known as Friedel & Associates, the residential property, and all associated financial accounts, to Carla Friedel, who accepts said assets along with all associated liabilities.
In exchange, Carla relinquished all claims regarding custody of Tessa Friedel. I received full, sole custody. No visitation rights for Carla or Spencer.
Lyra made one quiet statement before I signed. “For the record, my client is signing voluntarily and wishes to confirm that the opposing party has reviewed and accepted the estate, inclusive of all disclosed liabilities.”
Axel confirmed. Carla didn’t even look up. She was already reaching for her pen, her eyes gleaming with victory.
I signed. Carla signed. Spencer sat there, grinning like he’d just been promoted to CEO of something important.
The whole thing took eight minutes. It was the fastest eight minutes of my life. And I once ran a mile in high school gym class just to prove I could.
As I stood to leave, Carla couldn’t resist. She looked at me across the table, her face composed in a mask of pitying superiority. She said she hoped I’d finally learn to “stand on my own two feet without a Friedel to lean on.”
Spencer nodded along, probably without understanding exactly what she’d said, but agreeing on principle because that’s what Spencer does.
I picked up my bag and walked out.
I collected Tessa from daycare at 3:15 and drove to our apartment. I made her macaroni and cheese from a box—the kind with the dinosaur shapes, because Tessa firmly believed dinosaur-shaped pasta tasted better than regular pasta, and honestly, she might be right about that.
We watched cartoons until 6:30. She fell asleep on the couch with cheese on her chin. I carried her to bed. Then I sat on my kitchen floor with my back against the cabinet and just breathed.
It was the most peaceful evening I’d had since Joel died.
Three weeks later, Carla Friedel walked into Friedel & Associates as its legal owner and began running her new empire. I wasn’t there to see it, but in a town like Covington, you don’t need to be. People talk. Gail still had friends at the office, and some things I learned from Carla herself during that last phone call.
So here is what happened.
Day 1: Carla opened a stack of mail that had been accumulating on Joel’s desk, envelopes she’d walked past a dozen times without bothering to open. The third envelope was from the Internal Revenue Service. Notice of unpaid payroll taxes: $47,000. Penalties were accruing monthly.
Day 3: A phone call came in from an attorney in Cincinnati representing the plaintiff in a malpractice suit against Joel. The settlement had been agreed upon before Joel’s death: $180,000. Payment was overdue. The attorney was very polite and very, very firm.
Day 5: The landlord called. Carla needed to sign a personal guarantee to assume the lease in her name or vacate within sixty days.
Carla signed the guarantee. She didn’t hesitate, because in her mind, the firm made $620,000 a year, and $4,200 a month in rent was nothing. By signing that personal guarantee, she made herself personally liable for the monthly rent for the next thirty-four months. If the firm couldn’t pay, the landlord could come after her savings, her other properties—everything.
Day 8: Carla finally tried to open Joel’s QuickBooks file. Without Gail Horvath, it was chaos. Six years of categorized entries that made perfect sense to Gail made absolutely none to anyone else.
Carla hired a temp accountant from a staffing agency. The woman sat down, spent four hours clicking through files, and then turned to Carla with the expression of someone who just opened a door expecting a closet and found a staircase going straight down into the dark.
She said, “Ma’am, are you aware there are over $115,000 in outstanding vendor invoices here? Some of them date back fourteen months.”
Day 10: Gail Horvath filed a formal employment claim for wrongful termination without notice or severance. Six years of service. Estimated claim: $20,000.
Carla called Axel Mendler that night. I don’t know exactly what she said, but I can imagine the pitch of her voice, that tea-kettle frequency I’d come to know so well. Axel pulled up his files. He read her his own advisory letter back to her. He reminded her about the waiver she’d signed.
He said, “I recommended a full audit. You declined. I have documentation.”
Then Carla called me. I saw her name on my phone screen, glowing in the dark of my bedroom. I watched it ring four times. Then I set the phone face down on my nightstand and went back to sleep.
Carla fired Axel and hired a new attorney, a woman named Betsy Polk out of a firm in Cincinnati. Someone with no connection to the case, fresh eyes, sharp reputation. Carla told her the whole story. She said she’d been deceived, manipulated, tricked into accepting a worthless estate by her scheming daughter-in-law.
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