Chapter 3

The lawyer started by verifying our identities.

IDs, family records, proof of relationship. He went through each one in turn.

The more official the procedure, the more uneasy I felt. Vanessa in particular had kept her face tight since the moment she walked in, and when the lawyer said the words "execution of the will," her shoulders visibly stiffened.

"First, the transfer of $1.24 million." The lawyer pushed up his glasses. "This sum was separately designated by the late Mr. Whitaker before his death, to be transferred by Ryan on his behalf into Ms. Hayes's account on the day after his death."

My heart sank.

So it really had been Richard's arrangement.

But why exactly $1.24 million?

As if he could read the question on my face, the lawyer lowered his head and turned a page.

"The funds came from fixed-term deposits and investments in Mr. Whitaker's name, along with a reserve fund he had moved in advance. The amount was not arrived at randomly. It is a figure he put together according to his own wishes."

Vanessa couldn't hold back.

"Lawyer Bennett, I just want to ask one thing. Since this money has already been sent, does that mean she's been given everything she's supposed to get? The house and the rest of the savings should go by inheritance law, or by whatever my father-in-law arranged for his relatives, right?"

She asked in a rush, as if afraid that if she were one step too slow, everything on the table would fly away.

The lawyer didn't answer right away. He only said, "Mrs. Whitaker, please let me finish reading the full text."

Vanessa pressed her lips together, her expression even worse.

Ryan sat off to one side, head lowered the whole time, his hands clasped so tightly the backs of them had gone white.

Suddenly I understood why he had sounded so strained on the phone that morning.

He knew something.

And whatever it was, it was probably far from as simple as $1.24 million.

Before he began the reading, the lawyer asked, as a matter of routine, "Does everyone agree to remain quiet during the reading of the will, not to interrupt, and not to grab at the documents? If you have any objections, raise them through the proper legal channels after the reading is finished."

We all nodded.

Only then did he open to the first page.

The beginning was all standard boilerplate: name, ID number, address, sound mind, full legal capacity, no coercion or undue influence.

My mind went numb listening, until he reached the section on "distribution of assets." Then the air tightened all at once.

Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes nearly touching the paper.

Ryan's Adam's apple bobbed. He said nothing.

As for me, I kept my fingers pressed against my knees, pressing so hard it hurt.

Just then, my phone rang.

"Margaret" flashed on the screen.

I declined the call without thinking.

But as if she'd been waiting by the phone, she called right back.

The lawyer frowned, and I hurried to switch it to silent.

The texts followed, one after another.

"Eleanor, did you go to the lawyer's?"

"Don't even think about keeping Richard's affairs all to yourself."

"Some things aren't yours to touch."

Reading them, I felt a weight press on my chest. I was about to turn the phone face down when the quick, sharp click of high heels came from outside the door.

The next second, the conference room door was shoved open.

Margaret charged in, her daughter right behind her.

"I knew you'd sneak off here!" She pointed at me the moment she came through the door. "Eleanor, you actually have the nerve to sit here?"

The lawyer's face darkened. "A legal proceeding is underway. Unauthorized persons may not barge in."

"How am I unauthorized?" Margaret was shaking with anger. "I'm Richard Whitaker's own sister! My brother's barely gone and you're all dealing with his estate behind the family's back. Who knows what shady business is going on?"

As she spoke, she advanced on me.

"Was this your idea? I said it from the start, this woman is trouble. While Richard was alive she kept a tight grip on everything. His bank cards, his medical records, even his Medicare card, all in her hands. And now look. The minute he's gone, she's the first one sitting in front of the lawyer!"

In that moment, I went cold all over.

Ugly words said behind your back and ugly words thrown in your face are two different things.

I stood up, my voice low. "Margaret, if you really cared about Richard, you wouldn't make a scene in a place like this."

"Don't you talk to me like we're family!" Her eyes flashed. "Who do you think you are? My brother was blind when he was young and lost his head when he got old. You think spending a few years with him in the hospital and cooking a few years of meals makes you a real Whitaker?"

"Mom, calm down." Her daughter tugged at her arm, but her eyes kept darting to the documents on the table.

Vanessa stayed in her seat. She said, "Aunt Margaret, please sit down," but the words were so light they might as well not have been said.

Suddenly I felt very tired.

It wasn't just today's exhaustion. It was fifteen years of being guarded against, sized up, and quietly schemed over, all of that weariness surging up at once.

The lawyer rapped on the table.

"If everyone cannot maintain order, this reading will be suspended and moved to court-supervised proceedings."

At the word "court," Margaret finally lowered her voice.

She sat down reluctantly, though not before shooting me a cutting glare.

"Read it. I want to hear exactly what kind of spell Richard was under."

The conference room fell quiet again.

But this quiet was even tighter than before. Like a bowstring pulled taut, it would snap the instant anyone said one word too many.

The lawyer continued reading.

I heard savings, investments, real estate, an old storefront, a parking space. I also heard phrases like "designated beneficiary arrangements," "phased execution," and "attached conditions."

Each word dropped like a stone into the different hearts of everyone in that room.

The more Vanessa heard, the more restless she grew, digging her nails into the strap of her bag until they left white marks.

Margaret went from righteous indignation at the start to frowning, then glaring, then several times wanting to cut in and forcing herself to hold it back.

Only Ryan stayed silent the whole time.

But I could see that even his ears had turned red.

Halfway through, the lawyer paused to sip some water, then drew another kraft paper envelope from the file folder.

"In addition to the notarized will, Mr. Whitaker also left a handwritten supplementary statement. This statement does not on its own constitute grounds for the disposition of property, but it corroborates the main text of the will, and it is specified that after the will is read, it is to be read by Ms. Hayes personally."

"Why her personally?" Vanessa asked almost instantly.

The lawyer answered calmly, "That is the testator's written request."

"On what grounds?" Margaret was getting worked up too. "We're all relatives. Why can't we see it?"

The lawyer looked at them, his tone unchanged.

"On the grounds that this was Mr. Whitaker's own will."