Chapter 4
The room went silent.
I stared at Denise.
"What did Grandma write?"
She looked at Dad.
Then back at me.
"Maybe you should ask your father."
Dad's face tightened.
"Denise, don't play games."
She folded her arms.
"I'm not."
I looked at him.
"Dad?"
He seemed genuinely confused.
"My mother's will was settled years ago."
Denise smiled bitterly.
"Was it?"
My stomach twisted.
She looked pleased.
As though she'd finally found something that could hurt him.
Dad stepped closer.
"Explain yourself."
Denise lifted her chin.
"Your mother made changes shortly before she died."
Dad frowned.
"Daniel handled her estate."
"Not every document."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
She looked at me.
"Your grandmother wasn't as certain about you inheriting everything as Arthur likes to pretend."
My throat tightened.
Grandma Evelyn had loved me.
I knew that.
She'd called me her sunshine.
She'd taught me how to sew.
She'd given me a small gold necklace on my eighteenth birthday.
I still wore it.
The idea that she'd secretly changed her mind felt impossible.
But Denise's confidence frightened me.
Dad shook his head.
"If you have a document, show it."
Denise hesitated.
Then walked toward the staircase.
"Fine."
She returned with a leather folder.
She placed it on the coffee table.
Inside was a photocopied letter.
The handwriting looked similar to Grandma's.
I leaned forward.
The letter stated that Evelyn Robinson wanted her assets divided fairly among all future members of Arthur's household.
Including stepchildren.
My stomach dropped.
Denise watched my reaction.
"See?"
Dad took the page.
His expression changed.
"This isn't my mother's signature."
Denise laughed.
"Of course you'd say that."
He looked at her.
"My mother signed her full name Evelyn Mae Robinson. This says Evelyn Robinson."
I stared at the page.
He was right.
Grandma had always signed her middle name.
Even on birthday cards.
Denise's smile faded.
Dad continued.
"And this letter isn't witnessed or connected to the executed estate documents."
Denise stepped back.
"That doesn't mean it isn't real."
Dad looked at me.
"Maya, don't let this frighten you."
I swallowed.
"But what if Grandma changed her mind?"
He took my hand.
"Then we'll establish that through proper records."
I nodded.
He turned back to Denise.
"Where did you get this?"
She hesitated.
"From your mother's belongings."
Dad's expression hardened.
"Which belongings?"
"The boxes in storage."
I felt cold.
Grandma's boxes had been stored in the attic after her death.
Denise had offered to organize them three years earlier.
I remembered because she'd thrown away several old decorations.
She said they were clutter.
Now I wondered what else she'd taken.
Dad placed the letter back in the folder.
"Daniel will review it."
Denise's face changed.
"No."
Dad stared at her.
"Why not?"
"Because it's a private family letter."
He nodded.
"Exactly. Our family."
Denise grabbed the folder.
But Dad gently stopped her.
"We need to preserve it."
She glared at him.
"You're treating me like a criminal."
Dad shook his head.
"I'm asking for transparency."
Denise pulled away.
Then walked upstairs.
Her footsteps echoed through the house.
I sat on the couch.
My chest felt tight.
Dad sat beside me.
"Sweetheart."
I looked at him.
"What if she has more documents?"
His expression softened.
"Then we'll review them."
I swallowed.
"Why does she want Tasha to have my inheritance so badly?"
Dad looked down.
"I don't know."
But I could see something in his face.
He was beginning to understand that Denise's anger might not simply be jealousy.
There might be money.
Hidden transactions.
And plans that went much further back than either of us realized.
That evening, Daniel called.
He'd reviewed the copied letter.
He said it didn't appear to meet the requirements for changing Grandma's will.
But he wanted the original, if one existed.
He also requested the storage-box records.
Dad agreed.
The next morning, we went into the attic.
Dust covered the old furniture.
Boxes were stacked beneath the windows.
I recognized several labels written in Grandma's handwriting.
Christmas decorations.
Photographs.
Family papers.
We searched carefully.
After almost an hour, I found a small wooden trunk.
It had belonged to Grandma.
The brass lock was old.
Dad smiled sadly.
"She kept letters in that."
I touched the lid.
"I remember."
He opened it with a key from his desk.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and several folders.
I found letters from Grandpa Walter.
Recipes written in Grandma's neat handwriting.
And a small envelope addressed to me.
My name was written across the front.
"Maya."
My hands trembled.
"Dad."
He looked up.
I held out the envelope.
His eyes filled.
"That's her handwriting."
I swallowed.
"Can I open it?"
He nodded.
"Of course."
I carefully unfolded the paper.
The first line made me cry.
"My precious Maya, if you're reading this, I hope you've grown into the strong woman I always knew you would become."
I pressed the letter against my chest.
For a moment, I could almost hear Grandma's voice.
Dad sat beside me.
I continued reading.
Grandma wrote about courage.
About kindness.
About never allowing money to decide a person's worth.
Then she mentioned the family properties.
She explained that she wanted the assets preserved for future generations.
Not sold simply because someone demanded quick money.
And she wrote something that made me stop breathing.
"There is one property Arthur does not yet know I protected separately for you."
I stared at the line.
"Dad."
He leaned closer.
I continued.
"It was purchased with proceeds from your mother's insurance and investments, which I kept safe after she died."
My hands began shaking.
My mother.
She had left something for me.
Something Dad didn't know about.
I looked at him.
His face was pale.
"Your mother had a small investment account," he whispered. "I thought it was fully settled."
I kept reading.
Grandma had written that the property was held through a trust.
The letter referenced a separate folder containing the legal details.
I looked around the trunk.
There were three folders.
Two were empty.
The third contained old tax documents.
No trust paperwork.
Dad frowned.
"Where is it?"
We searched again.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a pale rectangle on the bottom of the trunk where dust hadn't settled.
Something had been removed recently.
I touched it.
"Dad."
He looked.
I swallowed.
"Someone took a folder from here."
Dad stared at the empty space.
Then his expression changed.
He looked toward the attic door.
May you like
And quietly said:
"Denise."
