Chapter 6
I thought Nia was lying.
It sounded too convenient.
A mysterious inheritance.
Old documents.
Another reason to explain why her mother had been targeting mine.
But Nia kept talking.
"Mom found something when Evelyn first moved in."
"What did she find?"
"A letter."
"Where?"
"In one of the boxes from your mother's apartment."
I stared at her.
"Your mother went through my mother's belongings?"
Nia lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
I felt anger rising again.
"Without permission?"
She nodded.
"What letter?"
"Something from a law office. It mentioned property your father inherited."
I shook my head.
"My father didn't own property."
"That's what I thought."
Nia took a deep breath.
"But Mom became obsessed with it."
I remembered Diane's strange interest in my mother's old boxes.
She had once offered to help organize them.
Mom had politely declined.
Diane had seemed offended.
At the time, I hadn't given it much thought.
Now I wondered whether that had been the beginning of everything.
"Where is the letter?"
"I don't know."
"Did Diane take it?"
Nia hesitated.
"I think so."
I stared at her.
"You think?"
"Marcus, I didn't see her take it. She told me about it afterward."
I went upstairs.
Mom was sitting beside her sewing basket.
When I entered, she immediately stood.
"Is everything all right?"
"Mom, I need to ask you something about Dad."
Her face changed.
"What about him?"
"Did he inherit property before he died?"
She looked confused.
"Property?"
"Land? A building? Anything?"
Mom sat down slowly.
"Your father received a small interest in some land from his uncle."
My heart skipped.
"Where?"
"Outside Charleston, South Carolina."
"What happened to it?"
She frowned.
"I don't really know. His uncle's estate was complicated. After your father died, I received letters from attorneys, but nothing was ever settled."
"Do you still have those letters?"
"Somewhere, I think."
She looked toward the empty closet.
Then her expression changed.
"Oh, Marcus."
"What?"
"Those papers were in the boxes Nia moved into storage."
I closed my eyes.
Of course they were.
I called the storage facility immediately.
The manager confirmed that my mother's name appeared on the account.
But Nia had been listed as the authorized contact.
I asked whether Mom could access the unit.
"Of course," the manager said. "She is the account holder."
An hour later, Mom and I drove across town.
I didn't tell Nia where we were going.
I wanted to see what remained of my mother's belongings before anyone had an opportunity to move them.
The storage facility smelled of cardboard and dust.
The manager led us to a second-floor hallway.
Unit 214.
My mother opened the lock with a key she'd kept in her purse.
The metal door rolled upward.
Inside were twelve cardboard boxes, an old sewing machine, two lamps, and several wooden crates.
My father's record collection sat against the back wall.
Mom covered her mouth.
"Oh, thank God."
I helped her inspect the boxes.
Most contained clothing, books, family photographs, and keepsakes.
Then I found a narrow metal filing box.
Its lid was unlocked.
Inside were tax documents, insurance papers, and old correspondence.
Near the bottom, I found a yellowing envelope.
The return address belonged to a Charleston law firm.
I opened it carefully.
The letter was dated November 2001.
It referenced my father's interest in a parcel of inherited land.
The estate had apparently remained unresolved because several heirs could not be located.
Attached was a survey map.
And a note indicating that my father's share could pass to his lawful heirs.
I stared at the document.
Mom leaned over my shoulder.
"That's your father's uncle's property."
"Did anyone ever contact you again?"
She shook her head.
"Not that I remember."
I examined the envelope.
Something was missing.
A small paperclip held an impression on the last page.
But whatever had been attached was gone.
"Mom, was there another document here?"
She looked closely.
"I don't remember."
I photographed everything.
Then I called Samuel.
He listened carefully.
"Don't assume there's an inheritance of significant value," he warned. "We need to verify the estate records, ownership history, and whether the interest still exists."
"Understood."
"But preserve those documents."
"I will."
We loaded my mother's most important belongings into my SUV.
For the first time in weeks, she smiled genuinely.
"My sewing machine," she whispered.
I lifted it into the trunk.
"Back where it belongs."
As we drove home, she looked out the window.
"Marcus, can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
"I never cared whether that land was worth money."
I glanced at her.
"I know."
"I cared because it belonged to your father's family."
She touched the old filing box on her lap.
"When he died, I thought keeping his papers meant keeping a little part of him."
I reached across the console and squeezed her hand.
"You did keep him with us."
That evening, Samuel called with surprising news.
He had located the original probate records.
The inherited property had been the subject of several legal disputes.
But the most recent public filings suggested that some interests remained unresolved.
More importantly, the land was located near an area that had experienced substantial commercial development.
It might now be worth considerably more than it had twenty-five years earlier.
"How much?" I asked.
"Too early to estimate," Samuel said. "And your father's share may be small or legally complicated."
I understood.
Still, the discovery explained Diane's sudden interest.
Or at least part of it.
Then Samuel told me something even stranger.
"Marcus, someone requested certified copies of these same estate documents six weeks ago."
My pulse quickened.
"Who?"
"An individual named Diane Williams."
I stared at the wall.
"You're certain?"
"That's the name on the records request."
I thanked him and ended the call.
Then I went into the kitchen.
Mom was making cornbread.
The smell reminded me of childhood Sunday dinners.
She turned when I entered.
"Good news?"
I wanted to tell her everything.
But I also wanted to protect her from another disappointment.
"We found Dad's papers," I said. "That's good news."
She smiled.
"Then that's enough for tonight."
I helped her prepare dinner.
For a little while, the house felt peaceful again.
But at nine, my phone rang.
It was Nia.
She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.
"Marcus, you have to help me."
"What happened?"
"My mother is furious."
"Why?"
"She found out you went to the storage unit."
I froze.
"How?"
"I don't know."
Then I heard a woman's voice shouting in the background.
Diane.
Nia gasped.
"Mom, stop!"
There was a loud crash.
"Nia?"
She whispered urgently, "Marcus, she says those papers belong to her now."
My grip tightened.
"What?"
Nia began sobbing.
May you like
"She says if you don't give her what she wants, she'll destroy our marriage completely."
Then the call disconnected.
