Chapter 28 - The Secret Will
I walked out of the detention facility into the biting afternoon cold, Eleanor’s raspy laugh still ringing in my ears.
Jonathan was waiting in his sedan by the perimeter curb. I climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
"She confirmed the existence of the codicil," I told him, staring straight ahead at the chain-link fences. "Jessica hid it. Eleanor thinks if they can't have the estate, they'll let the government seize it through probate forfeit."
Jonathan put the car in gear and pulled out onto the highway. "Jessica isn't nearly as stoic as your mother, David. While you were talking to Eleanor, the district attorney sat down with Jessica’s public defender."
"Did she talk?"
"She broke within twenty minutes," Jonathan replied with a dry chuckle. "The moment the DA mentioned five to seven years for felony conspiracy and grand larceny, she started naming every safe deposit box, every storage unit, and every secret account Eleanor ever told her to touch."
"Where is the codicil?"
"It's not in a safety deposit box," Jonathan said, turning onto the interstate heading north. "It’s in the one place Eleanor was certain you would never look. In the old family home. The one that went into foreclosure yesterday morning."
My jaw tightened. The family house on Crestview Lane. The grand, two-story colonial where I had grown up—the place where my father had spent his final days confined to a hospice bed in the study while Eleanor entertained guests downstairs.
"The bank holds the keys now," I said. "The foreclosure went through when Eleanor failed to cure the default on the secondary mortgage."
"The bank holds the keys, yes," Jonathan agreed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a heavy brass ring with three keys. "And since I happen to represent the primary holding firm that bought the defaulted note this morning on your behalf... we are legally authorized to inspect the premises."
I took the keys into my palm. The metal felt ice-cold against my skin.
Thirty minutes later, the sedan pulled up to the curb of Crestview Lane. The neighborhood was quiet, lined with towering oak trees stripped bare by the winter.
The house looked tired. The manicured hedges Eleanor had obsessed over were overgrown, and a bright yellow foreclosure notice was taped to the mahogany front door. This had been the fortress of Eleanor's social standing—the stage where she had performed her grand illusions of wealth and superiority.
We walked up the stone steps, unlocked the heavy deadbolt, and stepped inside.
The foyer smelled of stale air, dust, and old perfume. Sheets covered the furniture in the living room where, only weeks before, Eleanor had held court with the Disney tickets.
May you like
"Jessica told the DA it’s in the study," Jonathan whispered, leading the way down the hardwood hallway. "Behind the false paneling in your father's old roll-top desk."
***
