“Did she actually perform those services?”
“That’s what we are currently investigating.”
I looked at the next page.
There was a payment of $64,000 to a company called MD Property Solutions.
I knew the initials.
Michaela’s husband’s company.
Terrence had started a small property management business two years earlier.
I had even helped them prepare some paperwork when they were setting it up.
“Was this company hired to maintain Willow Creek?”
“That is what the invoice claims.”
“Did it?”
Gregory shook his head.
“We have not found sufficient evidence of the work described.”
Fred leaned forward.
“Are you saying money may have been taken improperly?”
“I’m saying there are transactions that require explanation. We are not making a final legal determination until the records have been fully examined.”
I appreciated his caution.
But my mind was already racing.
My sister had received money from an estate she knew I was supposed to inherit.
My mother had told me the property was sold.
And now I was beginning to understand why they didn’t want me meeting this attorney.
“Mr. Ashby, how much money are we talking about?”
He looked down at his notes.
“The currently questioned payments total approximately $286,000.”
I felt Fred’s hand close around mine.
Almost three hundred thousand dollars.
My sister.
My mother.
My grandmother’s money.
I looked at Gregory.
“Did Grandma know this was happening?”
“No. The majority of these transactions occurred after her death.”
I exhaled slowly.
Then Gregory opened a separate folder.
“This brings us to the letter your grandmother left for you.”
He removed a cream-colored envelope.
My name was written across the front in my grandmother’s handwriting.
Christy.
Just Christy.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My throat tightened.
I hadn’t seen it in nearly two years.
“She gave this to me six weeks before she passed away,” Gregory explained. “She asked me to deliver it personally and told me not to allow anyone else to open it.”
I took the envelope.
My hands were shaking.
Fred moved his chair closer.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
The first line made my eyes fill with tears.
My sweet Christy,
If you are reading this, I hope you are safe, happy, and surrounded by people who love you for who you are.
I stopped.
I couldn’t continue.
Fred placed his hand on my shoulder.
I took a breath and kept reading.
There is something I want you to understand about our family.
You have always been the one who tries to keep everyone happy. You apologize when you are not wrong. You give more than you have because you believe love means never keeping score.
I love that about you, but I worry that some people have learned to use it.
My eyes blurred.
Your mother and Michaela have never understood why I made certain decisions about Willow Creek. They believe I should divide everything equally because that is what families do.
But I did not make my decisions based on who asked the loudest or who believed they deserved the most.
I made them based on what I witnessed.
I stopped again.
Gregory looked away respectfully.
I continued.
Christy, I know about the allergy incidents.
My fingers went numb.
I read the sentence again.
I know about the cookies when you were little. I know about the camping trip when your emergency medicine disappeared. I also know about what happened before your wedding.
I looked up.
Fred was staring at the letter.
Grandma knew?
She had known about the incidents?
I continued reading.
I never wanted to believe that someone in our family could deliberately put your life at risk. Every time I asked questions, I was told there had been a misunderstanding.
But I am an old woman, Christy. I have lived long enough to understand that repeated misunderstandings sometimes become a pattern.
My eyes filled completely.
There is one more thing.
I have kept a record of several conversations and financial requests made before my death. I placed copies of those records with Gregory Ashby.
If anyone tries to prevent you from accessing the trust, please do not argue with them. Do not beg them to explain. Go directly to Gregory.
He knows what to do.
Then came the final paragraph.
I want you to have Willow Creek because I want you to have somewhere you never have to earn your place.
You were always enough, my darling girl.
Love, Grandma.
I lowered the paper.
For a moment, the room disappeared.
I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head.
The way she called me darling.
The way she always put extra apples in my lunch bag.
The way she checked my medication before every family gathering.
And now I was sitting in a lawyer’s office learning that she had noticed things I had spent years trying to explain away.
I wiped my cheeks.
“Mr. Ashby, what records did she leave?”
Gregory opened the folder.
“Several handwritten notes, copies of emails, and financial documents. There are also two audio recordings.”
I looked at him.
“Audio recordings?”
“Yes. Your grandmother made them during meetings with your mother and sister. She was concerned about certain requests they were making.”
Fred leaned forward.
“Can we hear them?”
“Not today. First, I need to verify the authenticity and establish how they can appropriately be used. But I can tell you that one recording is particularly important.”
“What does it contain?”
Gregory looked directly at me.
“Your mother discussing a plan to have you sign a document relinquishing your interest in the trust.”
I felt my heart begin to pound.
“What document?”
He removed another sheet from the folder.
It was a draft agreement.
At the top was my name.
Below it was a statement indicating that I voluntarily surrendered all beneficiary rights to the family trust.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I stared.
It looked like mine.
But I had never signed it.
“That’s not my signature.”
Gregory nodded.
“We suspected that.”
“Who submitted this?”
“Your mother.”
My hands started shaking again.
“She submitted a document with a forged signature?”
“That is one of the matters we are investigating.”
Fred’s expression hardened.
“Do you have the original?”
“Yes. We have preserved it.”
I looked at the document.
There was a date.
August 19.
The same month Gregory had started trying to contact me.
Suddenly, the timing made sense.
They had been trying to establish that I had already given up my inheritance.
And when that didn’t work, they apparently needed another way to keep me from discovering the truth.
I thought about the baby shower.
The blue plate.
The walnuts.
The missing injectors.
My sister standing there with that strained smile.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Why would they go this far?”
Gregory didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he turned to the final page in the folder.
“Mrs. Danforth, there is one additional issue that I think you need to know about.”
“What?”
He pointed to a line in the financial records.
A payment of $125,000 had been scheduled for Friday.
The recipient was MD Property Solutions.
Michaela’s company.
The description read:
FINAL PROPERTY TRANSFER AND BENEFICIARY SETTLEMENT.
I looked up.
“Was this payment approved?”
“No.”
“Then why was it scheduled?”
“Someone submitted an authorization request using your mother’s administrative credentials. The request was flagged because it conflicted with the trust’s restrictions.”
I stared at the date.
Friday.
The exact day mentioned in Michaela’s message.
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath me.
“What happens on Friday?”
Gregory closed the folder.
“That is what I am trying to prevent.”
He explained that an emergency review had been scheduled after the questionable transaction was flagged. The trust administrator needed to establish whether the proposed payment was legitimate and whether the beneficiary had approved it.
My mother and sister had apparently been told that I was expected to attend.
But they had also submitted paperwork claiming I had already surrendered my rights.
If I didn’t appear, they might attempt to proceed with another explanation for the missing authorization.
I sat completely still.
Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my mind since the baby shower.
“Mr. Ashby, do you think the tart was connected to Friday?”
He looked at me carefully.
“I cannot establish that from the financial records alone. However, considering the messages your husband preserved and the missing medication, I strongly recommend that you allow law enforcement to investigate that possibility.”
I nodded.
“I already filed a report.”
“Good. Please provide the case number to me. We will preserve every relevant document and coordinate with the appropriate investigators.”
Fred looked at me.
“Christy, we’re not going to Friday’s meeting without protection.”
Gregory nodded.
“That is sensible.”
He gathered the documents into a separate folder and handed me copies.
Then he said something that I would remember for a long time.
“Your grandmother anticipated that this might become difficult. She made sure you would not have to fight for your inheritance alone.”
I looked down at her letter.
For the first time since the baby shower, I felt something other than fear.
