“Your corporate jet has been grounded at Love Field.”
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“The Southlake residence has been placed under emergency chancery receivership.”
Hayes looked at Jason, who sat staring at the floorboards, his mouth hanging slack, spit pooling on his lower lip:
“You don’t own a house, Mr. Reed.”
“You don’t own a company.”
“And by Monday afternoon, you won’t even own the suit you wore to this church.”
“You think you’re smart, old man?” Jason suddenly roared, his head snapping up, his eyes bloodshot and wild:
He vaulted out of the pew, his fists clenched, spit spraying from his lips as he lunged toward the lectern:
“You think a piece of paper protects them?! I am her husband! Texas is a community property state! I will tie this up in probate for the next twenty years! Emily won’t see a single copper penny before she’s eighty years old! And as for the fall—it was an accident! The police ruled it an accident! The coroner signed the death certificate! You have nothing on me! NOTHING!”
*CLINK.*
The sound didn’t come from the pulpit.
It came from the rear double doors of the sanctuary.
The heavy, four-inch-thick carved oak doors swung slowly inward, their antique iron hinges groaning against the silence:
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*SCREEECH.*
Standing in the vestibule, silhouetted against the bright Texas afternoon sun, was a man wearing a dark-navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a gold five-pointed star pinned to his lapel:
**Texas Ranger Captain Thomas Vance.**
Jason’s face didn’t merely pale; it turned the exact shade of sour cream.
Because Captain Thomas Vance was not just a Texas Ranger.
He was Rachel’s estranged father.
He Arrived at His Pregnant Wife’s Funeral with His Mistress — Then Her Lawyer Opened the Will and Revealed the Truth …007
