Chapter 7: The Attorney Who Died Twice
“His name was Richard Hale,” my father said.
Daniel remained silent on the phone for several seconds.
Then he asked, “Are you certain that's the attorney who prepared the original agreement?””
Charles nodded before remembering that Daniel couldn't see him.
“Yes. Richard handled Samuel's estate planning for years. He was at the meeting with your mother. He prepared the safeguards and explained how the property was supposed to be protected.””
I tightened my grip on the broken portrait.
“Then why did you say his name like it was something terrible?””
My father looked at me.
“Because Richard wasn't just your grandfather's attorney. He was the person who told me the original agreement had to remain untouched.””
Patricia moved toward the living room.
“I'm done with this conversation.””
Nobody stopped her as she picked up her phone and began walking toward the staircase.
Daniel's voice interrupted her.
“Mrs. Carter, please remain available. We may need to clarify the sequence of events surrounding the property transfer.””
She stopped on the first step.
“I'm not staying here to be accused of something I didn't do.””
“Then you should have no difficulty cooperating with a proper review.””
Patricia turned toward my father.
“Charles, are you going to let him talk to me like this?””
My father didn't answer.
She stared at him for another moment, then continued upstairs.
The sound of her heels faded along the landing.
I looked at my father.
“You said Richard died before the transfer was filed.””
“Yes.””
“Then how could his name be connected to the original agreement?””
“Because he prepared it while he was alive.””
“But you sounded frightened when you said his name.””
Charles pressed his palms against his eyes.
“Richard called me the week before he died. He told me that if anyone ever questioned the property transfer, I needed to find the original agreement before answering anything.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why?””
“He wouldn't explain over the phone. He said someone had been asking him to prepare a replacement document, but he refused because the request contradicted Samuel's instructions.””
“Who asked him?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you ask?””
“Yes.””
“And?””
“He said he would tell me in person.””
Charles lowered his hands.
“He never got the chance.””
I sat slowly on the sofa.
“Was his death suspicious?””
“I don't know, Naomi. He was old. He had heart problems. His family said it happened suddenly.””
Daniel spoke through the phone.
“Mr. Carter, do you still have that call recorded or any written correspondence from Richard Hale?””
“No. It was a regular phone call.””
“Did he leave a message afterward?””
Charles hesitated.
“There was a voicemail.””
My pulse quickened.
“Where is it?””
“I changed phones twice. I thought I'd deleted everything from the old one.””
“Thought?”” Daniel asked.
Charles looked toward the staircase.
“Patricia handled the transfer of my information when we changed service providers. She organized the accounts, the files, everything.””
The room seemed to grow colder.
I stood.
“Dad, you're saying Patricia might have had access to the voicemail?””
“I'm saying she helped with my phone.””
“That's not an answer.””
“I don't know what happened to it!””
His voice cracked.
I stepped back, struggling to reconcile the man sitting in front of me with the father who had once taught me to ride a bicycle in the driveway.
He had held the seat while I pedaled, promising he wouldn't let go.
When I finally looked back, he had already released his grip, but he was still running behind me.
I'd fallen anyway.
He had picked me up, brushed the dirt from my knees, and told me that falling didn't mean I should stop trusting myself.
Now I wondered how many times he'd let go without telling me.
Daniel cleared his throat.
“Naomi, I need you to do something for me. Write down everything your father remembers about that conversation, including the approximate date and any details Richard provided. Don't attempt to recover electronic records yourself. If the voicemail still exists, we can discuss the appropriate way to preserve it.””
I took a notepad from the coffee table.
“What about the safe-deposit box?””
“I'll contact the bank and determine its current status. The access records will be important.””
Charles leaned forward.
“There was something else Richard said.””
I stopped writing.
“What?””
“He told me that if the original agreement disappeared, the property records would eventually expose the problem.””
Daniel's voice sharpened.
“Did he explain how?””
“No. He said the county record and the trust document couldn't both be legally consistent if someone had changed the ownership without following the safeguards.””
I looked at the transfer document inside Daniel's protective sleeve.
“So the county record could expose whoever did this.””
“Potentially,” Daniel replied.
“But we need the original documents to establish exactly what happened.””
A sound came from upstairs.
A drawer opening.
Then another.
Charles turned toward the ceiling.
“What's she doing?””
I stood and walked to the foot of the staircase.
“Patricia?””
No answer.
I climbed three steps.
Then I heard paper tearing.
I hurried upward, with my father close behind.
Patricia stood in the upstairs hallway beside an open storage cabinet. A stack of old folders lay on the floor. She held a bundle of papers in one hand and was feeding individual sheets into a small shredder.
“Stop!”” I shouted.
She jerked around.
One sheet slipped from her fingers.
I lunged forward and caught it before it reached the floor.
Patricia grabbed for it.
“Give that back!””
I stumbled against the wall, clutching the paper.
Charles pushed past me.
“Patricia, what are you doing?””
She switched off the shredder.
“Cleaning out old paperwork.””
I looked at the sheet in my hand.
It contained a partial letterhead, a date, and the words replacement deed instructions.
Below them was a typed reference to Richard Hale.
My mouth went dry.
“Why are you shredding documents about the deed?””
“They're old drafts!””
“Then why didn't you throw them away with the other papers?””
“Because I hadn't gotten to them yet!””
Daniel's voice sounded from the phone in my hand.
“Naomi, can you read the date?””
I held the paper closer.
“October fourteenth. Two years ago.””
Charles stared at the page.
“That was after Richard died.””
Patricia snatched the remaining papers off the cabinet.
“You're twisting everything. Richard prepared dozens of documents for Samuel. Some of them were incomplete. That's all this is.””
I looked at the letterhead.
The attorney's office address was printed beneath his name.
But the signature at the bottom wasn't Richard's.
It belonged to someone else.
Someone who had signed as the person requesting the replacement deed instructions.
I read the name aloud.
“Patricia Carter.””
My stepmother froze.
My father looked at her.
The silence that followed was so complete that I could hear the shredder's motor cooling.
Patricia recovered first.
“Yes, I requested information about the deed. I was married to Charles, and we needed to understand the property's status. That doesn't mean I did anything illegal.””
Daniel spoke firmly.
“Do not destroy or alter any further documents. Please place the remaining papers in a secure location and preserve them exactly as they are.””
Patricia dropped the bundle onto the cabinet.
“You can't order me around in my own home.””
“Then I strongly suggest you consult your attorney before taking any further action.””
She looked at my father.
“Charles, tell them what really happened.””
He stared at the paper in my hand.
“I don't know what happened.””
“You know why I contacted Richard's office.””
My father lifted his head.
“Why did you?””
Patricia's lips parted.
For a moment, I thought she might answer.
Instead, she looked at me.
“Because your mother wasn't the innocent woman you think she was.””
I stepped toward her.
“What did Mom do?””
Patricia's eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained sharp.
“She knew about the transfer before she died.””
My father went rigid.
I could barely hear myself speak.
“How?””
Patricia reached into the cabinet and pulled out a final envelope.
It was addressed to Charles.
The handwriting belonged to my mother.
“She sent this to your father,” Patricia said.
“And he never told you what was inside.””
Charles stared at the envelope as if it had appeared from a grave.
“Where did you get that?””
“From your desk.””
He took a step toward her.
“Patricia, give it to me.””
She held it out, but before he could reach it, she tore open the flap.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
She unfolded it.
Then her face changed.
Not anger.
Not defiance.
Terror.
May you like
Because my mother's letter contained only one sentence.
If anything happens to me, Charles, do not let Patricia near the original deed.
