Chapter 6 — My Father's Missing Will
Chapter 6 — My Father's Missing Will
I drove home without remembering the road.
The words Amy had spoken kept repeating in my head.
My father is the reason yours died.
I wanted to reject them.
I wanted to believe she had been forced to say them.
But the photograph.
The documents.
My mother's lies.
Everything had become too tangled.
When I arrived at the house, Samuel was waiting.
He took one look at me.
“What happened?”
I handed him the envelope.
He read the sentence.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Claire Cross.”
“Claire?”
“She disappeared before I could question her.”
Samuel looked toward the driveway.
“Then we have a bigger problem.”
“Why?”
“Because Claire Cross supposedly died twenty years ago.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The official record says she died in a car accident six months after your father.”
“That's impossible.”
“Apparently.”
I sat down.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Samuel placed the photograph on the table.
“Who is the woman in this picture?”
“Claire.”
“Are you sure?”
“She told me.”
“And you believed her?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Then he pulled out a folder.
“I found something else.”
“What?”
“The original estate file.”
I looked at him.
“My father's will?”
“No.”
“The court record says there was a will.”
“Yes.”
“But the original document was never filed.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone submitted a copy.”
“A fake copy?”
“Possibly.”
“Then where is the original?”
Samuel looked at me.
“That's what we're going to find.”
The next morning, we went to the county archives.
The clerk brought out the Bradley estate records.
There were dozens of documents.
Death certificate.
Tax records.
Insurance.
Property transfers.
Bank statements.
And the will.
Samuel placed the document under a magnifying glass.
He shook his head.
“This isn't your father's signature.”
I stared.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then whose is it?”
“Someone copied it.”
I looked at the date.
The document had been filed three weeks after my father's death.
My mother had inherited everything.
Exactly as I had been told.
Except now I knew it was false.
Samuel turned the page.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“The witnesses.”
I looked at the names.
Neither person existed in the county records.
Samuel frowned.
“Both addresses are fake.”
I felt sick.
“So someone created an entire fake will.”
“Yes.”
“And used it to take my father's estate.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Samuel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
We returned to the bank.
The executive opened the trust vault.
“There is one more item your father left.”
“What?”
“A key.”
He placed a small brass key on the table.
A number was engraved on it.
614.
Samuel stared.
“Six fourteen.”
“What does it mean?”
The executive shook his head.
“Your father gave no explanation.”
I turned the key over.
There was something engraved on the back.
A single word.
Nashville.
I stared at it.
“Nashville?”
Samuel nodded slowly.
“Your father lived here.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe the key opens something here.”
We searched old property records.
After two hours, we found an abandoned storage facility.
Unit 614.
My heart started beating faster.
The facility was almost empty.
Dust covered the concrete floors.
We walked down a narrow hallway.
Unit 614 was at the end.
The lock was old.
I inserted the key.
It clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a wooden desk.
Three boxes.
A filing cabinet.
And a framed photograph of my father.
I walked toward it.
Under the photograph was a handwritten note.
Connor, if you found this, the original will is no longer safe.
I felt my throat tighten.
Samuel opened the first box.
Inside were financial records.
The second contained photographs.
The third was empty.
Except for one envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
I couldn't trust the courts.
I couldn't trust my lawyers.
I couldn't trust your mother.
My hands shook.
So I created a second will.
Samuel leaned closer.
I continued reading.
The first will gives Teresa control.
The second gives Connor everything.
I stopped.
Everything.
The company.
The properties.
The investments.
The trust.
Then I read the next paragraph.
But there is one condition.
I turned the page.
The final line was missing.
Someone had torn it away.
I stared at the ripped paper.
Samuel cursed softly.
“Someone found this before us.”
I looked around.
Dust.
Broken boxes.
An empty cabinet.
Then I noticed something.
A small red stain on the floor.
Fresh.
I touched it.
Still wet.
Samuel immediately reached for his phone.
“Someone has been here.”
We searched the storage unit.
Behind the cabinet was a hidden compartment.
Inside was a tiny recorder.
I pressed play.
My father's voice filled the room.
“If you're hearing this, I'm probably dead.”
I froze.
His voice was exactly as I remembered.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakably his.
“I don't know who will find this.”
A pause.
“But I know who will try to destroy it.”
He named someone.
I stopped breathing.
“Teresa.”
Samuel looked at me.
My father's voice continued.
“Your mother isn't evil, Connor.”
I closed my eyes.
“She is afraid.”
A pause.
“Afraid of Evelyn.”
Then:
“But fear doesn't excuse what she will do.”
I felt tears forming.
“Your mother will eventually choose money over truth.”
The recording crackled.
“She will believe she is protecting you.”
“She's wrong.”
Then came the sentence that destroyed me.
“Because the person who ordered my death isn't Evelyn Cross.”
The recording stopped.
I stared at the recorder.
“That can't be it.”
Samuel checked it.
“That's the entire file.”
“No.”
I pressed play again.
Nothing.
I hit the device.
“Come on.”
Nothing.
Then I noticed a second memory card taped beneath the desk.
I pulled it free.
There was one file.
FINAL.
I opened it.
My father's voice returned.
“Connor, there is something you must know about the woman you will marry.”
I froze.
“Amy.”
Samuel stared at me.
My father continued.
“She will come into your life because of me.”
My blood ran cold.
“She will believe her father killed me.”
I looked at Samuel.
“She will be wrong.”
The recording continued.
“Amy's father didn't kill me.”
I exhaled.
“Then who did?”
My father's voice became quieter.
“The person who ordered my death was someone I trusted more than anyone.”
A long pause.
“Someone who had access to my accounts.”
“Someone who knew about the second will.”
“Someone who knew exactly where I hid the evidence.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen.
There was no name.
No final answer.
Only one clue.
A photograph attached to the file.
I opened it.
It showed my father standing beside a woman.
Not my mother.
Not Evelyn.
Not Amy.
A young woman.
I recognized her immediately.
Patricia Vance.
We returned to the office.
I called Patricia.
She didn't answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then Samuel received an alert.
“Connor.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the trust.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Who?”
He showed me the screen.
The account had been accessed remotely.
The authorization code was mine.
My blood ran cold.
“I didn't do that.”
“I know.”
The screen displayed one transfer.
$500,000.
Recipient:
Teresa Bradley.
I stared.
My mother had just received half a million dollars from my father's trust.
“Can we stop it?”
Samuel shook his head.
“It's already gone.”
I stood.
“Then we find out where it went.”
We traced the money through three accounts.
The final destination was a private company.
Cross Meridian Consulting.
Evelyn Cross.
I felt betrayed.
My mother had just transferred half a million dollars to the woman she claimed to fear.
Samuel looked at me.
“This is bigger than we thought.”
“No.”
I stared at the transaction.
“It gets worse.”
“What?”
“The money was transferred from my trust.”
“Yes.”
“Using my authorization.”
“Yes.”
“So whoever did it has access to my identity.”
Samuel nodded.
“Or someone is trying to make it look like you authorized it.”
I thought about the fake will.
The forged deed.
The forged signature.
Someone had been practicing with my identity for years.
Then my phone rang.
My mother's number.
I answered.
“Mom?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Connor.”
“Did you transfer money to Evelyn?”
“No.”
“It came from the trust.”
“I didn't do it.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
She whispered:
“Patricia.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She has the original will.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did you give her access?”
“I didn't.”
“Then how?”
My mother began crying.
“She was your father's attorney.”
“So?”
“She created the trust.”
I froze.
“She created it?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knew everything.”
“Yes.”
“And the second will?”
“She knew about that too.”
I looked at Samuel.
My mother continued:
“Connor, you cannot trust Patricia.”
I asked:
“Where is she?”
My mother whispered:
“She took Amy.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What?”
“Patricia took your wife.”
“Why?”
“Because Amy found the original will.”
I drove straight to Patricia's office.
The building was empty.
Her desk had been cleared.
Computer gone.
Files gone.
Nothing remained.
Except a single envelope.
My name was written on it.
I opened it.
Inside was the missing final page of my father's will.
I read it.
My father's final condition was simple.
Connor must choose his family before he receives the full inheritance.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel read the page.
“It means the trust isn't fully yours yet.”
“Why?”
“Your father placed a condition on the transfer.”
“What condition?”
Samuel pointed to the final sentence.
I read it again.
He must determine which person in his immediate family betrayed him, and publicly expose the truth.
I stared.
My father had designed an inheritance that required me to discover his killer.
The fortune wasn't simply money.
It was a test.
And someone had spent twenty years trying to make sure I failed.
Then I noticed a handwritten sentence beneath the legal text.
My father's handwriting.
Connor, the person you are looking for is not the person you think.
Below it was one final clue.
Start with the woman who raised you.
I closed my eyes.
My mother.
Again.
But now I understood.
The question wasn't whether Teresa had lied.
She had.
The question was why.
That night, I returned to my mother's house.
She was gone.
Every drawer had been emptied.
Every photograph removed.
The house looked abandoned.
Then I found something beneath the kitchen floor.
A loose wooden board.
Underneath was a metal box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
All addressed to my mother.
Most were from my father.
The first was dated three months before his death.
Teresa,
If you're reading this, Evelyn has already contacted you.
The second:
Do not trust Patricia.
The third:
If I die, protect Connor from the trust.
The fourth:
I know you believe you're helping me. You're not.
Then I found the final letter.
The handwriting was different.
It was Patricia's.
Teresa,
He knows too much.
If you don't stop him, Connor will inherit everything.
And when he does, he will uncover what we did.
My hands froze.
“What we did?”
Samuel looked over my shoulder.
Then he said:
“Connor.”
“What?”
“There is another page.”
I turned it over.
A single sentence was written across it.
We were not responsible for his death. We were responsible for what happened afterward.
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel didn't answer.
Then my phone vibrated.
A video had arrived.
Unknown sender.
I opened it.
Amy appeared on the screen.
She was sitting in a dark room.
Alive.
Terrified.
Someone stood behind her.
Patricia.
Amy looked directly into the camera.
“Connor…”
Her voice broke.
“I found your father's original will.”
I leaned closer.
“It proves everything.”
Patricia stepped into view.
She placed a hand on Amy's shoulder.
Then she looked into the camera.
“Your father didn't leave you a fortune.”
She smiled.
“He left you a choice.”
The screen went black.
A final message appeared.
Bring your mother to the old Bradley construction site.
Come alone.
Bring the original will.
I stared at the screen.
Then I understood.
The missing will wasn't simply evidence.
It was bait.
And Patricia had just revealed that she knew exactly where it was.
May you like
The only question was why she wanted me to bring it to her.
And what she planned to do with my wife when I arrived.
