PART 3
I stared at him.
“And then?”
“Then he said something that bothered me.”
Daniel paused.
“He said, ‘You don’t understand. That car belongs to my family. My mother isn’t in a position to make decisions anymore.’”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
My family.
Not my car.
Not my money.
My family.
As if being my son automatically gave him ownership of everything I had spent seventy-nine years building.
Daniel took a breath.
“I told him that the registration was in your name, and if he had a problem with the sale, he should speak to you. Then he got quiet.”
“Kevin doesn’t like being told no,” I said.
Daniel gave a small, understanding nod.
“I noticed.”
He picked up his hat from the chair.
“There’s something else, Peggy. When I told him I had already returned the money to you, he asked me whether I had counted it.”
My heart began beating faster.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I had counted it twice.”
I closed my eyes.
Daniel continued.
“Then he asked whether I had seen the envelopes inside the towel.”
I opened my eyes again.
Envelopes?
I had never mentioned envelopes to him.
I looked at the grocery bag.
“Walt…”
My late husband’s name came out almost without sound.
Daniel noticed my expression.
“Was there something else in there?”
I slowly pulled the towel away from the money.
The bills were exactly where I had left them. Neatly bundled, held together with old rubber bands.
But beneath the final bundle, I saw something I hadn’t noticed when Daniel first handed me the bag.
A small brown envelope.
My hands began shaking.
I knew that envelope.
It was one Walt had given me shortly before he died.
He had written three words on the front in his careful handwriting.
PEGGY, OPEN WHEN NEEDED.
I had completely forgotten about it.
For ten years, I had carried that envelope from one hiding place to another, always telling myself I would open it someday.
But I never had.
I sat down carefully at the kitchen table.
Daniel stood nearby, watching quietly.
“Would you like me to leave, ma’am?”
“No,” I said. “Please. Just give me a moment.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded piece of paper and a smaller photograph.
The photograph showed Walt standing beside our old sedan.
He was smiling.
It must have been taken years earlier, shortly after we bought the car.
On the back, he had written:
For my Peggy. So you will always have a way home.
I felt tears running down my cheeks.
But the letter was what caught my attention.
I unfolded it.
My dearest Peggy,
If you are reading this, something has probably happened that made you open the envelope. I hope I am still beside you, but if I am not, I want you to know something.
I know you worry about money. I know you sometimes feel that you have to depend on Kevin because he is our only son.
But Peggy, never let anyone make you believe that being family gives them the right to take what belongs to you.
I stopped reading.
Those words sounded exactly like Walt.
He had always been gentle, but he had a way of saying things that stayed with you forever.
I continued.
There is more money in the trunk than you may realize. The forty-one thousand dollars is yours. I saved it for your comfort, your emergencies, and your future.
But there is one more thing I want you to know.
I made a mistake many years ago. I trusted someone with a financial arrangement that I should have handled differently. I kept the documents because I wanted to protect you from unnecessary trouble while I was alive.
If anything ever happens to you, please speak to Mr. Harold Bennett at Bennett & Cole Law Office. He knows about the documents. He has instructions to explain everything to you.
Do not sign anything without understanding it.
And please, Peggy, remember that you deserve to live the rest of your life in peace.
I love you.
Walt.
I read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
“Mr. Harold Bennett,” I whispered.
Daniel pulled out a chair.
“Do you know who that is?”
“I think so. Walt had a lawyer years ago. I remember the name.”
I looked at the small photograph again.
For a moment, I could almost hear Walt laughing in the garage, complaining about the weather, asking whether I had made enough coffee.
I missed him terribly.
But now I had another problem.
Why had Walt kept legal documents connected to our car?
And why had Kevin suddenly called the buyer asking about the hidden bag?
I turned toward Daniel.
“Did my son tell you anything else?”
Daniel rubbed his chin.
“Actually, yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said something about a power of attorney. He told me he had been handling your affairs while you were in the hospital.”
I stared at him.
“He has never had power of attorney.”
Daniel looked surprised.
“Well, he seemed pretty certain that he had some kind of authority.”
I shook my head.
“No. I never signed anything like that.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“He also asked whether you had been discharged from the hospital.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“He wanted to know whether you were still taking pain medication and whether you could manage your own paperwork.”
I couldn’t answer.
The room suddenly seemed smaller.
Kevin hadn’t just sold my car.
He had been asking questions about my ability to make decisions.
And now he wanted something from the trunk.
Something he believed was important enough to call a complete stranger about.
I looked at the money again.
Forty-one thousand dollars.
It was a lot of money to an old woman living on a pension.
But suddenly, I had the feeling that the money wasn’t the only thing Walt had hidden.
“Daniel,” I said quietly, “would you mind helping me with something?”
“Of course.”
“Could you put the money somewhere safe? I don’t want to leave it sitting here.”
He nodded.
We carefully placed the bundles back into the towel and put everything inside my bedroom closet.
Then I asked him to help me find the telephone number for Bennett & Cole.
My old address book was still in the drawer beside the kitchen telephone.
I found the number after several minutes of searching.
My fingers trembled as I dialed.
A woman answered.
“Good morning. Bennett & Cole Law Office.”
“Hello. My name is Peggy Larson. My husband was Walter Larson. He passed away ten years ago. I believe he left some instructions with Mr. Harold Bennett.”
There was a short silence.
“Mrs. Larson, could you please hold for a moment?”
I waited.
After a minute, a familiar older voice came through the telephone.
“Peggy?”
I nearly dropped the receiver.
“Harold?”
“My goodness. Peggy Larson. I haven’t heard your voice in years. How are you doing?”
I looked toward my walker.
“Well, Harold, I have a broken hip, a missing car, and a son who seems to think everything I own belongs to him.”
The man sighed.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Then I told him about the letter.
The moment I mentioned the documents Walt had hidden, his voice changed.
“Peggy, do you still have the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Does it mention my name?”
“Yes.”
There was another pause.
Then he said something I wasn’t expecting.
“Peggy, I think you should come to my office as soon as you’re physically able. Your husband left something important with me. Something he specifically instructed me to discuss with you if you ever contacted me about the hidden money.”
I gripped the telephone.
“What is it?”
“I’d rather explain it in person. But before we meet, I need to ask you one question.”
“What?”
“Has anyone recently asked you to sign documents giving them control over your house, bank accounts, or personal property?”
I looked toward the kitchen window.
“No.”
“Good. Please keep it that way until we speak.”
My throat went dry.
“Harold, why?”
His voice became serious.
“Because Walter was concerned that someone might eventually try to take advantage of your age and your financial situation.”
I couldn’t speak.
Then Harold added:
“And Peggy, there’s something else. The documents Walt left with me are connected to a property transaction from many years ago. If everything is still as he arranged it, you may have considerably more protection than you realize.”
I stared at the telephone.
“What property transaction?”
But before he could answer, someone began pounding on my front door.
Three hard knocks.
Then a familiar voice.
“Mom! Open the door!”
Kevin.
Daniel stood up immediately.
I looked at the clock.
It hadn’t even been an hour.
“Mom! I know you’re in there!”
I slowly placed the telephone receiver against my ear again.
Harold was still speaking.
“Peggy? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“What’s happening?”
“My son is here.”
Harold’s voice became firm.
“Do not sign anything. Do not give him the money. And if you feel threatened, call the police.”
Another loud knock shook the door.
“Mom! I know that guy brought you something! Open up!”
I looked at Daniel.
He quietly walked toward the front window and glanced outside.
Then he turned back to me.
“There’s another person with him.”
My heart sank.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. A woman. She’s holding a folder.”
I slowly stood up with my walker.
Kevin knocked again.
“Mom, we need to talk. This is important!”
I knew that voice.
It was the same voice he had used when he was twelve and wanted money for a bicycle.
The same voice he had used when he was thirty and needed help paying his rent.
But this time, something was different.
He sounded frightened.
Not angry.
Frightened.
I moved toward the door, but Daniel gently raised his hand.
“Maybe let me see what they want first.”
I nodded.
He opened the door only a few inches, keeping the security chain attached.
