Chapter 8: The Attorney Who Knew Too Much
Dad released Rebecca's wrist.
“Robert Hayes is alive,” he said.
“I spoke to him twenty minutes ago.””
Rebecca shook her head frantically.
“No. I mean the original attorney. The man who handled your mother's inheritance. His name was Robert Hayes.””
Dad stared at her.
“That is the same man.””
For the first time that night, Rebecca looked genuinely confused.
“What?””
“Robert has represented our family for fifteen years. He handled Mother's estate.””
Rebecca's knees seemed to weaken.
“No. Michael told me he died last year.””
Dad's expression turned to ice.
“Michael told you a lot of things, didn't he?””
She sank into the nearest chair.
I stood beside the desk, trying to make sense of the conversation. If Robert Hayes had handled Grandma's estate, why would Michael have told Rebecca he was dead? And why had Rebecca believed him without contacting the attorney herself?
Dad opened his laptop again.
“I'm calling Robert back.””
Rebecca didn't try to stop him this time.
When Robert answered, Dad asked him directly about Grandma Helen's second investment account.
There was a long silence.
Then Robert said, “Daniel, I was hoping this matter would never come up again.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“Did my mother leave money to Emily?””
“Yes.””
“How much?””
“The original principal was two hundred and forty thousand dollars, held in a protected trust. The investment terms allowed the balance to grow, but the funds were restricted for Emily's benefit.””
Dad's hand tightened around the phone.
“Why wasn't this included in the estate settlement?””
“Because the trust was established separately, with a designated beneficiary. It was not part of the assets distributed under the ordinary estate process.””
“Who had access to it?””
“Initially, only the trustee and I had the necessary records. Your mother wanted you to know about it when Emily was ready to make decisions about her future.””
I felt my heart hammering.
“When was I supposed to be told?”” I asked.
Robert paused.
“On your eighteenth birthday, or earlier if you needed the funds for education. Your grandmother left specific instructions.””
I was seventeen. My birthday was less than two months away.
Dad looked at me, and I saw anger and regret fighting across his face.
“Who is the trustee now?”” he asked.
“The trust administrator changed after your mother's death. I can send you the official records tomorrow.””
“Has anyone attempted to access the funds?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Robert continued, “About eight months ago, someone submitted a request to change the beneficiary's contact information and update the authorized representative.””
Dad's voice sharpened.
“Who submitted it?””
“The request came from a woman claiming to be Emily's legal guardian.””
I stared at Rebecca.
“That's impossible. Dad is my legal guardian.””
“Correct,” Robert said.
“The request was rejected because the supporting documents were inconsistent with our records.””
Dad stood.
“Who was the woman?””
“I can't confirm the identity over the phone without reviewing the file. But I have the original submission.””
“Send it to me.””
“I will. Daniel, there's something else you need to know. The request was accompanied by a power of attorney that appeared to carry your signature.””
Dad's face went pale.
“I never signed a power of attorney for Rebecca.””
“I understand. That's why the request was rejected.””
Rebecca began shaking her head.
“I never submitted that.””
Dad turned toward her.
“Then why did Michael tell you about the trust?””
“I don't know!””
“You knew about the account. You knew about the money. You knew Emily was the beneficiary.””
“Michael said he could recover the funds for her!””
“Then why did you try to change her contact information?””
Rebecca stood abruptly.
“I didn't!””
Robert's voice came through the speaker.
“Daniel, I strongly recommend that you preserve every document and refrain from making accusations until we can examine the originals.””
Dad agreed to meet him the following morning.
After the call ended, he sat quietly for several seconds.
Then he looked at me.
“Emily, I want you to understand something. Whatever happens next, the money your grandmother left you belongs to you. Nobody has the right to take it.””
I nodded, but I couldn't stop thinking about the missing letter.
If Grandma had left instructions, Rebecca might have known about them long before she married Dad.
“Why did she want me to wait until I was eighteen?”” I asked.
Dad considered the question.
“Maybe she wanted you to be old enough to understand what you were receiving.””
“Or maybe she knew someone would try to take it.””
He looked at me sharply.
Neither of us spoke.
From the hallway came the sound of Madison opening and closing drawers.
Dad walked to the door.
“Madison, what are you doing?””
She appeared holding a small leather box.
“I found this in Mom's bedroom. I thought it might belong to Emily.””
Rebecca rushed toward her.
“Give me that!””
Madison pulled the box against her chest.
“No!””
Dad stepped between them.
“What's inside?””
Madison opened the lid.
There was a gold bracelet, several old photographs, and a folded envelope addressed in faded handwriting.
My name was written across the front.
Emily Carter.
I recognized Grandma's handwriting immediately.
“Where did you find this?”” I whispered.
“In the bottom drawer of Mom's dresser,” Madison replied.
“It was hidden under a stack of old papers.””
Rebecca's face drained of color.
Dad took the envelope carefully.
The seal was intact.
Inside was a handwritten note and a small card bearing the name of a bank in Savannah, Georgia.
Dad read the note aloud.
My darling Emily,
If you are reading this before your eighteenth birthday, then something has happened that I hoped I had prevented.
Do not trust anyone who tells you the money was lost, spent, or transferred for your own good.
The original account is safe. But there is another document that must be found before anyone can claim what belongs to you.
Ask your father what happened the night Michael left our house.
Dad stopped reading.
His face had gone completely white.
I looked at him.
“What happened that night?””
He folded the letter slowly.
“Your grandmother and I had an argument with Michael. It was about the inheritance.””
“What did Michael do?””
Dad looked at the card from the Savannah bank.
“He left with a folder of documents. We thought he had taken copies of the estate papers.””
Rebecca began crying.
Dad turned toward her.
“But now I think he took something else.””
He looked back at Grandma's letter.
The final line was written beneath her signature.
The truth is hidden in the original deed.
Dad whispered, “The deed to what?””
Madison turned the card over.
On the back, someone had written a property address in Savannah and a date from twenty years earlier.
Dad stared at it.
“I know this address.””
“Whose property is it?”” I asked.
He looked at Rebecca.
“It's the house where my mother grew up.””
Rebecca's lips trembled.
Then she whispered, “Michael sold that house years ago.””
Dad shook his head.
“No. He couldn't have.””
He picked up his phone and called Robert again.
When the attorney answered, Dad read the address aloud.
Robert went silent.
Then he said, “Daniel, do not go to that property without me.””
“Why?””
“Because the original deed was never legally transferred.””
Dad gripped the phone.
“What are you saying?””
May you like
Robert's reply came slowly.
“I'm saying the house may still belong to Emily.””
