“Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.” — Isaiah 1:17
“BUTTER & BLOODLINES” – STYLE 7 DRAMATIZED SCREENPLAY (PETERSVILLE EDITION)
FADE IN:
INT. BUTTERBALL MANSION – DINING ROOM – NIGHT (1958, FLASHBACK)
A long mahogany table. SILVERWARE glints. The house hums with mid-century money.
HELENA “GOLDEN HELEN” PETERSVILLE, elegant, tired but kind-eyed, signs the last page of a WILL.
Beside her, a YOUNG LAWYER, early 30s, earnest.
Across the room, LEO PETERSVILLE, 40s, slick-haired, restless, already thinking about the next deal.
The SIX DAUGHTERS — MARA, LINNIE, DEEANN, BARLA, SANNA, and little BRENNA — hover in the doorway, half-curious, half-ignored.
YOUNG LAWYER
This trust will provide for the girls if you go first. Independent trustees. Safeguards. They’ll be treated equally.
Helen smiles, eyes lingering on her daughters.
HELEN
That’s all I want. If I’m gone... I want them to know they mattered. Not just the business. Not just the butter.
Leo forces a smile.
LEO
Of course, of course. It’s all for the family.
He leans in, kisses her forehead. To the lawyer, under his breath:
LEO (CONT’D)
We can always... adjust things later, right?
The lawyer doesn’t answer. He just gathers the papers, uneasy.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. BUTTERBALL MANSION – LEO’S STUDY – NIGHT (1977)
Stacks of documents. Blueprint sketches of squeeze-pack machines and shaped butter molds.
LEO, now late 50s, paces with papers in hand.
The FIVE ADULT DAUGHTERS sit in a semicircle — MARA, LINNIE, DEEANN, BARLA, SANNA.
BRENNA, sweet and mentally disabled, hums softly in the hallway.
LEO
The court thinks I “mismanaged” your mother’s trust. Bureaucrats. They don’t understand risk, entrepreneurship, vision.
He waves a LEGAL NOTICE.
LEO (CONT’D)
I need you girls to sign something. Just a statement — that you trust me. That I’ll act with integrity, fairness, all that legal fluff.
He slaps a page onto the desk. The daughters lean in.
CLOSE ON the wording: “The daughters have confidence... the trustee will act with integrity, fairness, and sensitive concern for their best interests...”
Linnie’s eyes mist. She wants desperately to believe it.
LINNIE
If this helps you keep the house... and the cottage... we’ll sign.
DeeAnn hesitates, reading more closely.
DEEANN
Dad, are we giving anything up?
LEO
You’re gaining something. My protection. My leadership. You think some bank cares more than your own father?
He softens his tone, the charmer switch flipped on.
LEO (CONT’D)
Your mother trusted me. Don’t you?
The daughters exchange looks.
One by one, they sign. Linnie last, hand shaking slightly.
Brenna peers in, smiling.
BRENNA
Daddy, are we all happy?
Leo smiles at her — it’s one of the few genuine smiles he has.
LEO
Of course, Brenna. Everything’s fine.
He tucks the signed document into a folder marked: CONTROL.
INT. SMALL APARTMENT – KITCHEN – NIGHT (1982)
LINNIE PETERSVILLE, now a single mother, sits at a tiny table covered in bills. The phone is cradled between her shoulder and ear. Tears streak her face.
LINNIE
Dad, I’m not saying “no.” I’m saying... I need time. DeeAnn too. The will says if we’re in hardship, the trust can help. I just lost my job.
INTERCUT WITH:
INT. BUTTERBALL MANSION – LEO’S STUDY – SAME TIME
Leo, older, colder. He holds the phone at arm’s length, already annoyed.
LEO
You always dramatize things, Linnie. I’m “short of cash.” Again. I need to change the trust – sign the release to me, and I’ll take care of you all in the end.
LINNIE
Then put it in writing.
A beat. Leo doesn’t like that.
LEO
You don’t trust your own father? After everything I built?
LINNIE
I... I just... I want peace, Dad, but... DeeAnn and I need to think.
He slams the phone down.
INT. BUTTERBALL MANSION – LIVING ROOM – DAY (A WEEK LATER)
All the daughters are gathered: MARA, LINNIE, DEEANN, BARLA, SANNA. No husbands. No children. Leo’s rule.
Legal papers sit on the coffee table: RELEASE OF INTEREST.
LEO
Sign, and we save everything. The house. The cottage. The business. If you don’t — the banks, the court, the vultures get it.
Mara, Barla, Sanna sign quickly — peacemakers, conflict-avoidant.
Linnie and DeeAnn hesitate.
DEEANN
We’ve talked to old family friends. Lawyers. They said Mom meant what she wrote. She wanted us protected.
Leo’s eyes flash. The smile is gone.
LEO
Those “friends” don’t feed your children. I do. You want a blood feud? Or a family?
He leans close to Linnie, voice dropping.
LEO (CONT’D)
I’ll remember you all in the end. You have my word.
Linnie looks at DeeAnn. Tears. They both know this is a bad deal. But they also know what his wrath feels like.
They sign.
Leo beams.
LEO (CONT’D)
There. See? Harmony.
CUT TO:
INT. LINNIE’S APARTMENT – MONTHS LATER – NIGHT
A calendar flips: NOVEMBER... DECEMBER... YEAR AFTER YEAR.
No calls from Leo. No Thanksgiving invitations. No Christmas parties. No summers at the cottage.
Linnie stares at the mailbox. Nothing.
LINNIE (V.O.)
We signed everything he asked. And somehow, we were the ones cut off.
INT. FUNERAL HOME – VIEWING ROOM – DAY (1995)
LEO PETERSVILLE lies in a sleek coffin. Floral displays everywhere. Photos of butter machines, trade shows, the lakeside cottage.
The room is split.
On one side: THE FIRST FAMILY — the Petersville daughters, older now, battle-worn. LINNIE, DEEANN, BARLA, SANNA, MARA, and BRENNA.
On the other: THE SECOND FAMILY — NANETTE “NAN” PETERSVILLE, composed, Bible in hand, with her three children: MARCUS, ANDRA, TERA. All in tailored black.
CALVIN KID, early 20s, Linnie’s son, watches both sides like a referee who never volunteered.
Whispers fill the air: “What did the will say?” “Who gets the house?”
We don’t hear the lawyer yet. Just tension.
INT. LAW OFFICE – CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY (LATER, 1995)
A polished table, a pitcher of water nobody touches.
At the head of the table is BENJAMIN “BULLDOG” BROWERTON, mid-50s, gruff but strangely warm. He flips through the will.
On one side: NAN, MARCUS.
On the other side: LINNIE, DEEANN, BARLA, SANNA, MARA. CALVIN sits behind them, taking everything in.
BROWERTON
Alright. This is the Last Will and Testament of Leo Petersville.
He reads.
BROWERTON (CONT’D)
The business, real estate, and primary assets... pass to his son, Marcus Petersville. A mandatory life interest to his widow, Nanette Petersville.
The room goes still.
LINNIE
And the daughters?
BROWERTON
Individual bequests are... minimal. Some promissory notes — but they were “gifted back” years ago through documents your father had you sign.
He flips pages.
BROWERTON (CONT’D)
As it stands, nearly everything goes to Marcus and Nan.
Linnie’s composure cracks.
LINNIE
We lent him our inheritance. We trusted him. We signed for him in court. We kept quiet for “family unity.” And we end up with nothing?
Marcus shifts, uncomfortable but not enough to speak.
Calvin watches, jaw clenched.
CALVIN (V.O.)
We weren’t just cut out of the will. We were erased from the story.
INT. NAN PETERSVILLE’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT (LATE 1995)
Nan sits at a writing desk, Bible open. She writes a letter.
We HEAR her VOICE as she writes, intercut with quick shots of the SISTERS reading it later.
NAN (V.O.)
I loved you all as my family. I tried for thirty-four years to keep everyone together. Only by the grace of God did I manage anything at all.
Linnie, DeeAnn, Barla, Sanna open letters at their respective kitchen tables.
NAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)
You speak of wrongs to be righted, of saving the family. These are searching phrases. But money cannot buy love, peace, or comfort. I am not responsible for what your father did with your mother’s trust.
We see Linnie frown, shaking her head.
NAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)
You are welcome at the house or the cottage whenever you wish. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
She underlines the verse in her Bible.
NAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)
I feel as though a gun is being held to my head — “do something financially, and then we will be one big happy family.”
Back to Linnie at her table — that line hits her like a slap.
LINNIE
Gun to her head?
CALVIN sits across from her, reading over her shoulder.
CALVIN
You’re the ones who signed away your safety net. She’s sitting in the house your mother meant to protect you with.
Linnie presses her fingers to her temples, torn between faith and fury.
INT. MARCUS PETERSVILLE’S OFFICE – NIGHT (DECEMBER 1995)
Modern, glass, corporate. Framed photos of butter products on shelves.
MARCUS PETERSVILLE types furiously, then stops, thinking. He begins again.
We HEAR his words in VOICEOVER as he writes to the sisters.
MARCUS (V.O.)
You talk about “past wrongs” and “saving the family.” Those are vague, searching statements.
Quick cuts of the SISTERS reading.
MARCUS (V.O.) (CONT’D)
If there are specific wrongs you want addressed, put them in writing and send them to me directly. Don’t hide behind spiritual language if what you really want is financial compensation.
DEEANN’s face tightens. BARLA looks wounded. SANNA looks angry.
MARCUS (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Our family has a history of saying one thing and meaning another. That started with Dad, and we’ve all inherited it. I’m trying to break that cycle.
He leans back, thinking.
MARCUS (V.O.) (CONT’D)
If you’re looking for blessing to flow only through money, you have a hard row to hoe.
CALVIN (reading over Linnie’s shoulder) snorts.
CALVIN
So wanting your own inheritance back is “searching” and “money-obsessed,” but him keeping everything is righteous?
LINNIE
He says he wants honesty. Maybe we should give it to him.
Her eyes harden. A resolve appears that’s been buried for decades.
INT. CALVIN KID’S APARTMENT – LATE NIGHT (AROUND 2000)
Stacks of photocopied letters, court papers, old wills, and trust documents cover a cluttered table. A single desk lamp burns.
CALVIN types on an old computer. The screen shows the heading:
“PLAINTIFF’S OBJECTION AND NARRATIVE STATEMENT – CALVIN KID, PRO PER”
He reads aloud as he types, like he’s narrating a film.
CALVIN
(softly)
“My mother and her sisters were, in essence, tricked out of their inheritance by their own father. They signed away what already belonged to them under promises of good faith that were never honored.”
He flips through a letter from a GUARDIAN AD LITEM JUDGE years earlier: notes about mismanagement, the need to protect the daughters. He taps it.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Judge Dillon Stoppel already saw enough to appoint a guardian for them once. Maybe the court can see again.
He types faster.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
“The wealth and property accrued under Leo and Helen Petersville has effectively passed into the hands of a small minority — the second family — while the daughters for whom the original trust was written are being told to accept spiritual comfort instead of equity.”
A KNOCK at the door.
LINNIE steps in, wrapped in a worn coat.
LINNIE
You’re still at it?
CALVIN
Mom, this isn’t just about money. It’s about the story. Right now, it ends with you all apologizing for wanting what your own mother left you.
She sits, looks at his pages.
LINNIE
I don’t know if the court will listen. We’re tired. We’ve been tired since 1982.
CALVIN
Then let me be the one who’s not tired yet.
He smiles, a little boy and a seasoned litigator in the same face.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
If they want honesty on paper, they’re going to get it.
INT. COURTROOM – DAY (HEARING)
Plain Michigan courtroom. Fluorescent lights, tired wood benches.
At one table: CALVIN and BULLDOG BROWERTON.
At the other: NAN, MARCUS, and their sleek attorney, OLIVER “ORACLE” BRIETON.
JUDGE DILLON “THE WATCHMAN” STOPPEL presides — older now, but eyes still sharp.
JUDGE STOPPEL
Mr. Kid, you’re appearing pro per?
CALVIN
Yes, Your Honor. For myself, and in essence for the branch of the Petersville family that was disinherited.
Browerton nudges him under the table, a proud mentor.
JUDGE STOPPEL
Alright. Convince me there’s something here besides old resentment.
Calvin stands, breathes, and begins.
CALVIN
Your Honor, this is not about punishing the second family. It’s about acknowledging what happened to the first.
He walks a few steps, holding up photocopies.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
When Helena Petersville died, she left a carefully structured trust. Independent trustees. Protections for her daughters. If one fell into hardship, the trust could help.
He lays down a copy of the original provision.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Decades later, Leo Petersville mismanaged that trust so badly this court appointed a guardian to protect the daughters. Even then, Leo persuaded them to sign a statement attesting to their “confidence” in his integrity. They did it to support him. To protect the “family.”
He switches papers.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
In 1982, he called them to his house — no spouses, no children — and pressured them to release all remaining trust assets back to him. Two daughters hesitated, citing the original language and their own financial hardship. After a month of crying, traveling, seeking counsel — they signed.
He glances at Linnie and DeeAnn in the gallery. They nod silently.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Shortly afterward, they were cut off. No holidays. No cottage. No relationship. Their reward for signing was exile.
Brieton shifts, annoyed but listening.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Years later, when Leo died, virtually the entire estate — built in part during Helena’s years, with her partnership — went to the second wife, Nanette, and to Marcus. The daughters received almost nothing. And when they asked, not for charity, but for restoration of their mother’s intent, they were told that their requests were “vague,” “searching,” and perhaps “money-driven.”
He taps a letter, then looks right at the judge.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Your Honor, they are told that “money can’t buy happiness” — from inside the house their mother meant to secure for them.
A murmur runs through the courtroom.
Nan bristles, but keeps a pious posture, fingers resting on her Bible.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
I’m a church kid. I know the verses they quote: joy in the morning, God’s plan, laying up treasure in heaven. But I also know the ones about justice, Jubilee, restoring what was taken, treating people fairly in business. Scripture does not excuse trickery. Neither does the law.
The judge watches him, thoughtful.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Even if my aunts weren’t perfect. Even if they cried too much, trusted too easily, or signed what they shouldn’t have — that does not turn fraud into fairness. They lent their inheritance back under promises of good faith that were never honored. They were told to obey, to support, to keep the family together — and now, decades later, they are being portrayed as greedy for wanting what was originally written for them.
He softens, voice thick.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
We’re not asking the court to manufacture a perfect family. We’re asking it to acknowledge that a wrong was done — and to help restore what can still be restored, before my mother and her sisters die believing that silence and obedience were all the law ever wanted from them.
A long, heavy silence.
Judge Stoppel leans back, fingers steepled.
JUDGE STOPPEL
Mr. Brieton?
Brieton rises smoothly.
BRIETON
Your Honor, the second family did not draft these documents. They did not control Leo Petersville’s choices, nor the daughters’ voluntary signatures. We can argue equity all day, but the papers are what they are.
He glances at Nan and Marcus, then continues.
BRIETON (CONT’D)
However... my clients have expressed a desire to maintain some sense of family unity, and my client Marcus has considered establishing a foundation in the Petersville name—
Calvin smiles bitterly. The word “foundation” has become its own kind of insult.
INT. COURTHOUSE HALLWAY – LATER
The hearing is in recess. Family members cluster in clumps.
Nan and Marcus stand together. Nan clutches her Bible. Marcus has his executive calm back on.
Across the hall, Linnie, DeeAnn, Barla, Sanna, Mara, and Brenna cluster around Calvin.
SANNA
You were fierce in there.
DEEANN
I didn’t know you remembered the cottage that well.
CALVIN
I remember enough to know it wasn’t meant to vanish into a line item.
Nan approaches slowly. The hallway quiets.
NAN
Calvin... that was a powerful speech.
Calvin braces for Scripture.
CALVIN
Thank you.
NAN
I still don’t believe money will heal this family.
CALVIN
Neither do I. But pretending it doesn’t matter — while you keep it — doesn’t heal anything either.
Marcus joins them, wary but trying for sincerity.
MARCUS
Look... I don’t want to be Dad 2.0.
He looks directly at Linnie.
MARCUS (CONT’D)
I can’t undo the past. But I can’t just sign away the company overnight either. People’s jobs depend on it.
LINNIE
Nobody’s asking you to burn down the plant, Marcus. We’re asking you to acknowledge that this didn’t start out as “your” empire alone.
He nods, taking it in.
MARCUS
What if... the foundation wasn’t just for scholarships or public image. What if we wrote terms that expressly include the daughters and their kids — financially — not just in name?
Calvin studies him.
CALVIN
Is that repentance or just strategy?
MARCUS
Maybe both. Maybe that’s how these things start.
They stare at each other — the son who inherited everything, and the grandson who inherited the wound.
For the first time, they look almost like relatives instead of rivals.
INT. CALVIN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT (EPILOGUE)
Papers again. But now, there are new drafts with notes in multiple handwriting styles.
LINNIE reads a memo labeled: “PROPOSED PETERSVILLE RESTORATION PLAN”
CALVIN sits beside her.
LINNIE
Do you trust them?
CALVIN
Not completely. But I trust that putting it in writing gives us something we never had before: terms we can point to.
She nods.
LINNIE
If this works... it doesn’t erase what your grandfather did.
CALVIN
No. But it says his story isn’t the last word.
He looks at a photo: HELEN PETERSVILLE on the steps of the old house, all six daughters around her, young and hopeful.
CALVIN (CONT’D)
Golden Helen started this with a will — not just of paper, but of heart. Maybe this is the closest thing we get, this side of heaven, to Jubilee.
Linnie smiles sadly, but there’s a tiny spark of peace.
LINNIE
Then let’s keep going. For her. For you kids. For anyone who’s ever been told to “be quiet for the sake of the family.”
She squeezes his hand.
The camera pulls back — the table piled with drafts, letters, and one worn Bible opened not to comfort verses alone, but to the hard ones about justice.
FADE OUT.
