"But I should tell you that I've already forwarded the recording, the photographs, and the toxicology report to the district attorney's office.
Mr.
Sloan requested that I do so in the event that you contested the will."
David's phone was in his hand, but he didn't dial.
He stood there, frozen, looking at me.
"Linda," he said.
"Don't do this.
I'm your husband.
Twenty-two years.
You're going to throw that away over a recording from a confused old man?"
"Was he confused, David?
When he installed cameras?
When he went to his doctor?
When he recorded you saying you were waiting for him to d*e?"
David's mouth opened and closed.
Nothing came out.
"You used my name on those complaints," I said.
"You made me think my neighbor hated me.
You made me think I was the problem.
Every argument, every sleepless night, every time I cried because I thought I couldn't live next to that man anymore — that was you."
"I did it for us," David said.
"That property is worth—"
"It was never for us.
It was for you.
It was always for you."
David's shoulders dropped.
He looked at Mr.
Higgins.
"What happens now?"
"That depends on the district attorney," Mr.
Higgins said.
"But as far as this will is concerned, Mrs.
Garrett either accepts the condition or she doesn't.
The property is not available to you under any circumstances."
David looked at me one more time.
"Linda.
Please."
"Leave, David."
"Linda—"
