two million four hundred thousand dollars.
At the bottom, Henry had underlined two words.
“Ask Nolan.”
I heard tires crunching against the gravel driveway.
I folded the letter and pushed the documents into my handbag.
Nolan entered first, followed by Elliot and a woman carrying a black leather notary case.
“Mom,” Nolan said, “I’m glad you’re home.
We need to take care of a few things while the bank is still willing to cooperate.”
I remained seated.
“What things?”
He laid a document on the kitchen table.
“Dad’s death has created complications with the business.
There’s an urgent transfer involving the East Pier property.
We need your signature to prevent penalties.”
The woman introduced herself as Mrs.
Avery, a mobile notary hired to witness the signing.
I looked at the first page.
The language was dense, but I recognized the legal description of the land Henry and I owned together.
This was not a routine banking form.
It was part of a conveyance that would transfer our waterfront property to a company associated with Duncan Vale.
Then I saw Henry’s signature near the bottom.
It looked remarkably convincing.
But the date beside it was Thursday.
Henry had supposedly died on Tuesday.
“Thursday,” I said.
“Why does your father’s signature say Thursday?”
Nolan leaned forward.
“The office processed it Thursday.
Dad signed before the accident.”
“Then why is Thursday the date written beside his actual signature?”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Elliot shifted his weight near the doorway.
“Nolan, maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight.”
“Be quiet, Elliot.”
Mrs.
Avery studied the document.
“I was asked to witness Mrs.
Ashford’s signature,” she said carefully.
“I can’t verify the authenticity of any earlier signature.
And I won’t proceed unless she’s signing voluntarily.”
Nolan forced a smile.
“Of course she’s signing voluntarily.
She’s just upset.”
I took out my phone and photographed the page.
Then I looked directly at my eldest son.
“If this is legitimate, Amelia Price can review it tomorrow.”
Amelia had been Henry’s attorney for more than twenty years.
Nolan’s eyes narrowed.
“Dad stopped using Amelia months ago.
She isn’t involved anymore.”
I thought of the letter in my handbag, attached to a document Amelia had prepared only three weeks earlier.
“Then there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said.
“I’ll ask her myself.”
I stood up.
Nolan stepped between me and the hallway.
“Mom, listen to yourself.
You’re grieving.
You’re confused about dates, paperwork, everything.
This is exactly why we’ve been trying to protect you.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
Not because I believed them.
Because I understood what he was attempting.
He wanted me to doubt myself.
He wanted the woman who had managed his father’s accounts for three decades to believe she was suddenly incapable of reading a document.
I looked at Mrs.
Avery.
“Would you mind walking outside with me?”
She closed her case.
“Not at all.”
Nolan glanced between us.
There was another witness now, someone he couldn’t control with a familiar smile.
He stepped aside.
I walked through my own front door without asking permission.
That night, Amelia met me at a diner near the harbor.
She arrived wearing a raincoat over her pajamas and carried a worn leather briefcase.
She had known us for so long that I barely needed to explain why I
