It took a second, but the urge to apologize subsided. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeing if you’re ready to end these shenanigans yet,” Uncle Buckley said, shooting a worried glance at the open space between the door and its frame as Mary and Groucho continued to growl from behind her.

“You’re not getting control of the foundation.” There was no way in hell. It helped too many people for her uncle’s greed to win out. Just this morning she’d sent out approvals on a grant that would help with job training for folks staying at a domestic violence shelter and another for prepaid cell phones for those who were in dangerous situations but weren’t yet ready to leave.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said, cocky and confident the way only an asshole could be. “Are you going to stuff those mutts in a closet and invite me inside?”

Chelle crossed her arms and didn’t bother to wipe the fuck you off her face. “No.”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “We’ll do this here, then. I have a judge ready to declare your marriage invalid for the purposes of your dad’s will because it’s all fake.”

Her bravado disappeared in a flash as her stomach dropped all the way to the building’s sub-basement and didn’t make a rebound. It was like her entire insides were now just empty.

“If that was true,” she said, fighting to keep the worst of the worried shakes out of her voice, “you wouldn’t be here telling me this.”

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “This is an act of mercy. Give up now, and I’ll allow you three months to wind down operations at the foundation. If you don’t, everything will cease the minute the judge rules my way.”

It was a bluff. It had to be. She already had an appointment set with a judge about the will. There was no way, even with all of the Finch family connections, her uncle could work around that.

But her roiled gut said otherwise. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Well, actually, it’s not up to you.” He held out an envelope that she reached for on automatic pilot. “Consider yourself served.”

He slapped the envelope into her hand and stomped off on his cowboy boots, looking every bit as self-satisfied as a peacocking asshole could. That was it. She was definitely murdering a peacock shifter in her book.