The Wig Brielle Was Never Supposed to Know About

I read the clause until the words stopped looking like words.

If I die before this is resolved, the responsibility passes to Emily.

My father had been dead for twelve years. I had spent those years believing he had left me nothing but memories, a few photographs, and a childhood full of questions I was too young to ask.

Now I was staring at a document that appeared to make me responsible for an inheritance I hadn't known existed.

Marcus pulled a chair beside mine.

"Emily, we need to establish whether this document is authentic before we assume anything.""

"I know.""

"Your father's signature could have been copied.""

"I know.""

But my hands were shaking.

I wanted the document to be real. I wanted to believe my father had trusted me with something important. Yet I was terrified that the signature, the clause, and the entire story had been fabricated to draw me into a trap.

My grandmother leaned over the screen.

"That's your father's signature," she whispered.

"Can you be certain?"" Marcus asked.

"I watched him sign hundreds of documents. The way he crossed the final letter was distinctive.""

She pointed to the screen.

"He always did that.""

My mother stood near the window, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"That document shouldn't exist.""

I looked at her.

"Why?""

"Because your father never told me he intended to make you a trustee.""

"He didn't have to tell you everything.""

Her face tightened.

"Emily, you're making a terrible mistake by trusting a piece of paper sent by a stranger.""

"Then help me prove it's false.""

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Marcus saved the email and its attachment to a separate folder.

"We'll send this to a solicitor who has no connection to the original estate. We'll ask the bank to preserve its records, and we'll report the suspected unauthorized access to the clinic.""

My mother sank into a chair.

"And what happens if they discover I took the money?""

Marcus didn't soften his answer.

"Then you'll have to answer for it.""

She began to cry.

I watched her for a moment, remembering how she had held me after my father's funeral. She had told me that grief would become easier if we focused on the good memories.

I had believed her.

Now I wondered whether she'd been comforting me or silencing me.

My phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar, but the caller ID displayed a Massachusetts area code.

Marcus motioned for me to answer on speaker.

"Hello?""

"Emily Reed?""

"This is Emily.""

"My name is Andrew Collins. I was your father's solicitor.""

The room went silent.

Marcus leaned toward the phone.

"Mr. Collins, this is Marcus Reed. We've received a document that appears to relate to a revised will and a trust established by Emily's father.""

There was a pause.

"Where did you get it?""

"An anonymous email.""

Another pause.

Then Andrew exhaled sharply.

"I was afraid this day would come.""

My grandmother gripped the back of a chair.

"Andrew, is the document genuine?""

"I can't verify an attachment I haven't examined. But I can tell you that Edward did prepare a revised estate plan shortly before his death.""

My heart began pounding.

"Why was it never disclosed to me?""

"Because the final execution of the documents became complicated.""

"What does that mean?""

Andrew hesitated.

"Your father signed several papers in the days before his death. Some were witnessed and completed correctly. Others required additional steps. After he died, I was informed that the original documents had been withdrawn.""

"By whom?""

Silence.

"Mr. Collins?""

"By someone claiming to represent the estate.""

"Who?""

"I can't give you a reliable answer until I review my archived files.""

Marcus leaned forward.

"Did you authorize the transfer of money from the Rachel Whitmore Trust?""

Andrew's voice became defensive.

"I handled certain estate transactions. I will not discuss privileged details over an unsecured call.""

"Then tell us where to find the original will.""

"I have records in storage. I can arrange a meeting tomorrow morning.""

I swallowed.

"Do you know whether the safe-deposit box has been emptied?""

The silence that followed was longer.

"How did you learn about that box?""

"My father left me a key.""

Andrew sighed.

"Then you have more information than I thought.""

"What does that mean?""

"It means you need to be careful about whom you trust. Someone has been looking for those records for a very long time.""

"Who?""

"I don't know who emptied the box. But I can tell you this: your father didn't leave you the responsibility because he expected you to recover money alone. He left it because he believed you would insist on an independent investigation.""

I looked at my mother.

She was staring at the floor.

Andrew continued.

"Bring the original letter, the key, and any documents you've received. Don't alter anything. I'll meet you at my former firm's office at nine tomorrow morning.""

Marcus agreed.

Before the call ended, I asked one final question.

"Mr. Collins, did my father know he was going to die?""

Andrew's answer came quietly.

"No. But he knew someone had been moving money through his accounts, and he feared the evidence would disappear after his death.""

The call ended.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Then my grandmother touched my cheek.

"Your father trusted your heart, Emily. He knew you wouldn't turn away from the truth simply because it hurt.""

I leaned into her hand.

"I wish he'd told me himself.""

"So do I.""

Marcus wrapped his arms around me.

"We'll find out what happened.""

I held him tightly, grateful that he was still there despite everything my family had done to turn our wedding into a disaster.

Then my phone vibrated again.

A message from the unknown number.

*Andrew Collins is lying. Ask him who signed the authorization that emptied the safe-deposit box.*

I showed Marcus.

He read it twice.

"Whoever this is knows about the bank records.""

I typed a reply.

*Who are you?*

The response came almost immediately.

*Someone who tried to warn your father.*

A second message appeared.

*And someone who knows why he collapsed that night.*

My fingers went numb.

Marcus took the phone gently.

"Ask them what they mean.""

I typed the question.

This time, the reply took nearly a minute.

Then three words appeared on the screen.

*He wasn't alone.*

I stared at them.

My father had collapsed in his office twelve years earlier. My mother had admitted visiting him that evening. Andrew Collins had known about the missing money. Rachel had been searching for the trust.

But none of them had told me who else was there.

I typed another message.

*Who was with my father?*

The answer arrived.

*Ask your mother about the phone call she made at 10:52 p.m.*

I slowly raised my eyes.

My mother had gone completely still.