When Old-Money Matriarch Margaret Fontaine Catches Her Son-in-Law Abusing Her Daughter and Misappropriating a $45 Million Family Trust, an Emergency Revocation Obliterates His Wealth Before Dinner...
Evan stood there, utterly defeated, the color completely drained from his face. Gloria Lombard, however, quickly recovered, her eyes darting between me and Margaret, calculating.
“This is outrageous!” Gloria declared, her voice regaining some of its usual haughtiness. “You’re accusing my son of fraud based on some antiquated family rule? We’ll see about that in court!”
“You certainly will,” Margaret countered smoothly. “And you will find that antiquated family rules, when properly codified, carry the full force of Georgia state law.”
She turned to me, a glint in her eyes. “Emily, we are going to pay a visit to Mr. Marcus DeWitt. Now. I want you with me.”
My stomach clenched. Confronting a corrupt appraiser who was clearly working with Evan felt daunting, but I knew I needed to see this through. I nodded, a silent resolve settling over me.
“Mother,” I began, “shouldn’t Daniel handle this?”
“Daniel handles the legalities. We handle the optics,” Margaret replied, already striding toward the door. “And the pressure. I want DeWitt to understand the full weight of the Fontaine name he has sullied.”
We left Evan and Gloria sputtering in the dining room, still reeling from the news about the codicil. A black Cadillac Escalade, driven by a silent, uniformed chauffeur, waited outside. The ride to Marcus DeWitt’s Buckhead office was short and tense.
DeWitt’s office was in a sleek, modern building, all glass and chrome. His receptionist, a young woman with a perfectly coiffed ponytail, looked startled when Margaret swept in, me trailing behind her.
“We are here to see Marcus DeWitt,” Margaret announced, her voice resonating with an authority that brooked no argument. “He’s expecting us.”
The receptionist, clearly intimidated, fumbled with her phone. “I… I don’t see an appointment, ma’am.”
“He is expecting us,” Margaret repeated, her tone hardening, “to discuss his involvement in a fraudulent property transfer concerning the Fontaine Family Trust. I suggest you inform him we are here, or I will have Daniel Cho’s team issue a subpoena before the end of the day.”
That got her attention. She quickly connected with DeWitt. Moments later, a nervous-looking Marcus DeWitt, a man in his late 40s with thinning hair and shifty eyes, emerged from his office. He looked pale, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Mrs. Fontaine,” DeWitt stammered, avoiding my gaze. “To what do I owe the… unexpected pleasure?”
Margaret didn’t waste a second. She placed the Manila folder containing the fraudulent deed on his desk, spreading it open to reveal his stamp.
“Mr. DeWitt,” she began, her voice low and dangerous, “this document, bearing your professional stamp, attempts to illegally transfer the primary Fontaine estate. A property protected by an unassailable 1952 codicil. Explain yourself.”
DeWitt’s eyes darted frantically between Margaret, the document, and me. He swallowed hard. “I… I just appraised it, Mrs. Fontaine. Evan Lombard commissioned the appraisal. It was all above board.”
“Above board?” Margaret scoffed. “You signed off on a deed transfer without the required elder signatures, which would have been glaringly obvious in any legitimate title search. This is not merely an oversight, Mr. DeWitt. This is complicity in fraud.”
DeWitt started to sweat more profusely. He wrung his hands. “He… he said he had it handled. He said Judge Thomas would clear it. He paid a premium for the expedited service, said it was a family matter.”
My breath caught in my throat. Margaret’s head snapped up.
“Judge Thomas?” Margaret repeated, her voice a deadly whisper. “Evan Lombard bribed Judge Thomas, the probate tax assessor, to clear this fraudulent deed?”
DeWitt’s eyes widened in horror. He clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing his slip. The silence in the room was absolute, save for the hum of the air conditioning. He had just confirmed the heart of Evan’s corruption.
Margaret’s face was a mask of cold fury. The scale of Evan’s depravity had just escalated exponentially. Not just property theft, but bribing a public official. This wasn’t just a family matter anymore. This was a criminal offense.
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