Chapter 4: The Will They Had Stolen
I read the final line of the bank application three times.
The account had been opened using a copy of my original will.
Not a recent copy.
The original will Frank and I had signed nearly twelve years earlier, when our business was still expanding and our children were young enough to believe money grew on trees.
I looked at Margaret.
"How could Vanessa have obtained this?""
Margaret took the document from my hands.
"Where do you keep your original estate-planning papers?""
"In the locked cabinet in Frank's old office.""
"Who has access?""
"Me. Margaret. And Daniel used to have a spare key.""
Margaret looked up.
"Used to?""
I nodded.
"After Frank died, Daniel helped me organize some documents. I changed the lock six months later.""
"Did you notice anything missing?""
I thought carefully.
Then I remembered.
Three months earlier, Vanessa had visited while I was recovering from a minor fall.
She'd insisted on helping me reorganize the house.
She'd spent almost an hour in Frank's office.
At the time, I'd been grateful.
Now, the memory made my stomach turn.
"She was alone in that room," I whispered.
Margaret wrote something down.
"Do you remember what she was doing?""
"She said she was looking for the insurance paperwork.""
Margaret stopped writing.
"Did you give her permission to access your cabinet?""
"No.""
"Then we need to establish whether anything was copied or removed.""
I stood and walked to the cabinet.
The lock was intact.
I entered the combination and opened the door.
Inside were neatly labeled folders, old tax returns, property deeds, and our estate documents.
I pulled out the folder marked LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
The original was there.
But something was wrong.
The folder contained two documents instead of one.
One was the will Frank and I had signed.
The other was a photocopy.
I looked closer.
It was dated eight months earlier.
And handwritten across the top were the words:
*REVISED BENEFICIARY DISTRIBUTION.*
"Margaret?""
She approached.
The moment she saw it, her expression hardened.
"Where did this come from?""
"I've never seen it before.""
She examined the first page.
It appeared to be an amendment to my estate plan, changing how my assets would be distributed after my death.
My grandchildren were mentioned.
So was Daniel.
But the largest beneficiary was a company called Whitmore Property Ventures.
Margaret turned the page.
"There's something else.""
I looked over her shoulder.
A signature appeared at the bottom.
Eleanor Whitmore.
My signature.
Except this one was not even particularly convincing.
The W was too narrow.
The final e had an awkward loop.
"I didn't sign that.""
"I believe you.""
She photographed every page.
Then she placed the document inside a protective folder.
"Eleanor, this may be an attempted alteration of your estate documents. We need the attorney who prepared the original will to verify the records.""
"Can they simply change my will without me?""
"Not legally. But someone may be trying to create evidence that you approved a change.""
My phone rang.
It was Noah.
"Grandma, can I come over?""
"Of course, sweetheart.""
He arrived twenty minutes later carrying a backpack.
His eyes were red.
"What's wrong?""
He looked at Margaret, then at me.
"Mom found out I visited you.""
I frowned.
"What did she say?""
"She took my car keys.""
"Your car?""
"She says I'm betraying the family.""
I motioned for him to sit.
"You're not betraying anyone by telling the truth.""
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small notebook.
"I found this in Mom's desk.""
I stared at it.
"Why were you looking through her desk?""
"Because I heard her arguing with Dad last night. She said something about the original documents and a deadline.""
He opened the notebook.
Inside were handwritten figures, property addresses, and several dates.
One entry had been underlined twice.
*DECEMBER 31 — COMPLETE TRANSFER BEFORE COURT REVIEW.*
Below it were three numbers.
$100,000.
$184,000.
$2,000,000.
I felt the room tilt.
Margaret took the notebook.
"Did you write this?""
"No.""
"Do you know what these figures mean?""
Noah shook his head.
"But I recognize the address next to the two-million-dollar amount.""
He pointed to the page.
It was the address of one of our largest self-storage facilities.
The one Frank and I had bought twenty-six years earlier.
"That's the property Mom and Dad have been visiting," Noah explained.
"They said they were considering selling it.""
I stared at the notebook.
"They don't own it.""
"I know.""
Margaret slowly closed the cover.
"Then we have a much bigger problem.""
My phone rang again.
This time, it was Richard.
"Mrs. Whitmore, we've identified the company behind the account application.""
"Whitmore Property Ventures?""
"Yes. And we've discovered a recently filed document transferring an interest in one of your commercial properties.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Which property?""
He named the facility from Noah's notebook.
My blood ran cold.
"Who signed the transfer?""
May you like
Richard hesitated.
"Your son, Daniel.""
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