Pamela: Selling the mansion?! This is the family legacy! You can't sell the Whitford estate!
Mark: Watch me. The listing agreement is already signed, and the proceeds are going directly into a trust account for Lily and any future children Sarah and I have.
Pamela: Where am I supposed to live?! Have you thought about that for even one second?!
Mark: You have your personal savings account, Pamela. The one with the hundred thousand dollars you hid from the probate court four years ago.
Pamela stiffened, taking a small step back toward the marble counter as if trying to hide from his gaze.
Pamela: How... how do you know about that account?
Mark: I'm an estate lawyer, Pamela. Did you really think I wouldn't trace the wire transfers from my father's corporate account right before he passed?
Sarah: She took money while your dad was in the hospital?
Mark: Three transfers of thirty-five thousand dollars each, executed while my father was heavily medicated in hospice care.
Pamela: That was for his medical bills! I had to pay the private nurses!
Mark: The private nurses were paid directly through his health insurance, Pamela. I checked the medical billing records yesterday morning.
Sarah held baby Lily tighter, looking at her mother-in-law with a mixture of pity and deep disappointment.
Sarah: You stole from your own dying husband... and then you had the nerve to call me a gold digger?
Pamela: You don't know anything about my marriage, Sarah! I gave thirty years of my life to that man!
Mark: And he spent the last ten years of his life trying to protect his children from your greed!
Pamela: Mark, please... let's sit down and talk like civilized people. We can work out an agreement!
Mark: There is no agreement to work out, Pamela. The time for talking was six months ago when Sarah tried to invite you to our baby shower and you threw the invitation in the trash.
Sarah: I spent three days making those handmade invitations, Pamela. You called them 'cheap cardstock' and told your friends I had no taste.
Pamela: I was stressed! I had a migraine that day!
Mark: You always have an excuse for being vile to people you consider beneath you. But today, the party is over.
Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek silver set of keys, tossing them onto the marble kitchen island with a heavy metallic clatter.
Mark: Leave your house keys on the counter. The locks are being changed at five o'clock today.
Pamela: You are a heartless, ungrateful son! God will punish you for how you're treating your mother!
Mark: God is watching how you treated a young mother holding a crying baby, Pamela. And justice is finally being served.
Mark took Sarah's arm gently, guiding her toward the grand foyer as Pamela let out a sharp, desperate cry behind them.
Pamela: Mark! Don't walk out that door! Mark!