Chapter 7
Lena came over with Ruth before sunrise.
The second asset was a trust my husband had created for Ethan when he was born. I managed it until Ethan turned thirty-five.
He was thirty-four.
The trust held investments and a small parcel near Carter House. The parcel gave access to the south field, but only for the trust’s beneficiaries and approved community use.
George’s draft loan documents treated the access parcel as if Ethan already controlled it.
“He will next year,” Ethan said, reading over my shoulder.
“Yes,” Lena replied. “But he doesn’t now. And the trust limits how that parcel can be used even after it transfers.”
George had counted on getting both our signatures after the wedding.
Mine for the house and field.
Ethan’s for the trust when he became eligible.
“Patricia said Friday,” I said. “What happens Friday?”
Ruth checked the messages Sofia had provided.
“The lender’s final review.”
Lena was already reaching for her phone.
“We’re notifying the lender that these documents are disputed.”
While she made the call, Ethan wandered to the mantel.
A photograph of his father stood there, taken weeks before the accident that killed him. Ethan had been four. He remembered the man mostly through stories I told him.
“Dad trusted you with all of it,” Ethan said.
“He trusted us to care for it.”
“I nearly signed away something he left me.”
“You hadn’t seen the full papers.”
“I should have asked.”
I went to him.
“Ask now. Ask every question you need.”
He turned to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me the trust included that land?”
“I did, years ago. I called it the east access parcel. I didn’t realize George was interested in it, so I didn’t bring it up again.”
He nodded slowly.
“We both assumed we understood what the other knew.”
“Yes.”
It was an uncomfortable truth. We sat with it.
At noon, the lender confirmed it would pause its review pending investigation. George’s proposed loan could not close on Friday.
By evening, George’s attorney had sent Lena a letter claiming everything was a clerical error.
Lena sent back copies of the false signatures and the appraisal request.
Then someone posted the garden video online.
Martin called to warn me before I saw it.
“I didn’t post mine,” he said. “Another guest had a different angle.”
Within an hour, my office phone would not stop ringing. Reporters wanted a statement. Strangers wanted to know why I had dressed in old clothes. Some offered sympathy. Others called it a stunt.
I turned the television off.
Ethan watched the video once and put his phone face down.
“I hate that people are watching you on your knees.”
“So do I.”
“I should have come outside sooner.”
“You came when you knew I was there.”
He stayed for dinner.
Afterward, Noah called Ruth. He had been offered another job, but his agency had told him he could no longer work Mitchell events.
“He thinks Vanessa complained,” Ruth said.
I asked her to connect me with him.
“Noah, do you want help finding other work?”
“I do,” he admitted. “I’m still paying for school.”
“Ruth knows several event managers. I’ll ask her to make introductions, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Mrs. Carter, I heard something that night. I didn’t know whether it mattered.”
“What did you hear?”
“George was on the patio before you arrived. He told Patricia the lender would ask questions about the parcel if the title search wasn’t clean.”
“Did he say more?”
“No. Vanessa came out, and they stopped talking.”
I thanked him and passed the information to Lena.
By the following morning, the lender’s review had found another problem.
George had given it a letter stating Ethan and I intended to contribute both parcels to the project. My name appeared at the bottom.
So did Ethan’s.
He looked at his signature and shook his head.
“I’ve never seen this letter.”
May you like
Lena placed both versions on the table.
“Then we need to find out who made it.”
