Chapter 3: The Secret in My Father's Will
My father had always been careful with money.
He wasn't wealthy when he met my mother. He built his construction company from a single pickup truck, a toolbox, and a determination that bordered on stubbornness.
By the time I turned thirty, he owned several commercial properties and had enough money to retire comfortably.
But he never trusted people who became friendly only after learning what he was worth.
“Money doesn't change everyone, Sarah,” he'd told me once.
“Sometimes it just gives them permission to show you who they already are.””
I remembered those words as I sat across from an attorney named Rebecca Shaw that afternoon.
Rebecca had handled my father's estate. She was in her late fifties, with silver-framed glasses and a habit of reading every document twice before speaking.
I placed the copied transfer agreement on her desk.
“Someone is trying to take my lake house.””
She read the first page without changing expression.
Then she reached the signature page.
Her fingers stopped.
“Where did you get this?””
“From my fiancé's friend's salon. I also have emails discussing the transfer.””
Rebecca removed her glasses.
“Sarah, did you sign anything recently regarding Silverline Holdings?””
“No.””
“Did you authorize anyone to sign on your behalf?””
“No.””
She stood, walked to a filing cabinet, and pulled out a thick folder marked with my father's name.
“Your father anticipated that someone might eventually try to exploit your inheritance. He had me include several safeguards in the estate documents.””
“What kind of safeguards?””
She opened the folder.
“The lake property cannot be transferred through a standard sale agreement alone. Any transfer requires independent legal verification and a separate authorization from the estate trustee.””
I blinked.
“Who is the estate trustee?””
“I am.””
Relief washed over me so suddenly that I nearly cried.
“Then they can't take it?””
“Not legally, no. But a forged agreement can still cause serious problems if someone uses it to mislead a lender, create a fraudulent lien, or claim an ownership interest. We need to act before they take another step.””
She pulled a notepad toward her.
“Tell me everything you know about Silverline Holdings.””
I explained the security footage, the emails, and Ethan's messages.
Rebecca listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked a question I hadn't expected.
“Did your father ever tell you why he chose to leave the lake property to you personally rather than placing it directly into a trust?””
“He said he wanted me to have something that no one could take away from me.””
Rebecca studied me for a long moment.
“Your father loved you very much.””
“I know.””
“He also knew Ethan.””
My head snapped up.
“What?””
Rebecca closed the folder.
“Ethan accompanied you to one of your estate meetings about eighteen months ago. Your father was already gone, but I remember Ethan asking several questions about the property's future value and whether it could be used as collateral.””
“He said he was trying to help me plan our future.””
“Perhaps.”” Her expression remained neutral.
“But I advised him that he had no authority over your inheritance.””
I remembered the meeting.
Ethan had been charming, attentive, and full of sensible questions. I'd been overwhelmed by the paperwork, so I'd appreciated his help.
I had even thanked him afterward.
“Why didn't you tell me you were concerned?”” I asked.
“Because asking about an inheritance isn't a crime, and I had no evidence of wrongdoing. I couldn't accuse him based on curiosity alone.””
She slid the forged document back toward me.
“Now we have something different.””
Rebecca picked up her phone.
“I'll contact the appropriate authorities and arrange for the property records to be monitored. You should not sign anything Ethan gives you, and you should not meet with him alone.””
I nodded.
Then I remembered his final message.
You have no idea what Vanessa knows about your father's estate.
I showed Rebecca the text.
She read it twice.
“Did Vanessa know your father personally?””
“Not that I know of. She met him once at our engagement party.””
“Did she have access to his financial records?””
“No.””
Rebecca was quiet for several seconds.
Then she asked, “Did your father have any business partners who might have known details about the estate?””
I searched my memory.
“There was a man named Robert Collins. He worked with Dad for years before retiring. I think he was Vanessa's uncle.””
Rebecca's face changed.
“Robert Collins was Vanessa's uncle?””
“You know him?””
“I knew of him. He was involved in a business dispute with your father shortly before your father's death.””
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of dispute?””
Rebecca returned to the filing cabinet and removed another folder.
“This isn't something I can explain from memory. I need to review the records before I tell you anything definitive.””
She placed the folder beside the forged agreement.
“But there is one document I want you to see.””
She opened it to a page containing my father's handwritten notes.
His handwriting was shaky, as it had been near the end of his life.
At the top of the page, he'd written three names.
Robert Collins.
Ethan Miller.
And Vanessa Collins.
Beneath them was a sentence that made my blood run cold.
*If any of these people approaches Sarah about the lake property, do not let her sign anything until the original trust records have been reviewed.*
I stared at the paper.
“Why would Dad write Ethan's name?””
Rebecca didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she turned to the next page.
It contained a photocopy of an old contract dated eleven years earlier, long before Ethan and I had met.
My father's signature appeared at the bottom.
So did Robert Collins's.
But the most disturbing part wasn't either signature.
It was the handwritten note in the margin.
*Undisclosed beneficiary: E. Miller.*
I looked up at Rebecca.
“Who is E. Miller?””
Before she could answer, my phone began to ring.
Ethan.
I rejected the call.
It rang again.
Then a text appeared.
Sarah, please. I can explain everything.
Another message followed.
Your father wasn't the man you thought he was.
I felt my throat tighten.
Rebecca reached across the desk and placed her hand over mine.
“Don't respond yet.””
Then her office phone rang.
She answered, listened for several seconds, and slowly stood.
“What do you mean the original trust has been accessed?””
Her face drained of color.
She glanced at me.
“No. That document should have remained sealed.””
A pause.
Then she whispered, “Who requested it?””
I watched her grip the receiver.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was barely audible.
“Tell me you didn't release it to Ethan Miller.””
She listened.
Then she closed her eyes.
May you like
Because someone had already taken my father's original trust document.
And according to the access log, the person who collected it had signed my name.
