Chapter 5: What Thomas Left Behind
The attorney's name was Mr.
Gerald Foss, and he had a voice like a man who had delivered difficult news so many times it had become simply a texture of his working day — not unkind, but unhurried.
He met Carol and me in his office at two o'clock that afternoon.
The room smelled of old paper and carpet cleaner.
He had a box of tissues on the corner of his desk that had clearly been there a long time.
"Mrs.
Carter." He shook my hand and gestured to the chairs.
"Thank you for coming so quickly."
"My son called this morning.
He said there was a dispute."
"There is." Mr.
Foss opened a folder.
"I'll explain the situation plainly, because I think that's what you'd prefer."
"Please."
"Thomas updated his will fourteen months ago.
At that time, he made you the primary beneficiary of his estate.
This includes his house, his savings, and a trust that he established approximately thirty years ago and has been contributing to consistently since."
I said nothing.
"The total value of the estate, as of last month's assessment, is approximately four hundred and thirty thousand dollars."
Carol made a small sound beside me.
"His family," Mr.
Foss continued, "specifically his nephew, a Mr.
Richard Holt, is challenging the will on the grounds that Thomas lacked the mental capacity to make sound decisions at the time of the update, due to his illness."
"That's not true," I said.
"No," Mr.
Foss agreed.
"It is not.
I was present when Thomas updated the will.
He was entirely lucid.
He knew exactly what he was doing and why." He paused.
"He also left a recorded statement, which he asked me to play for you today, before any legal proceedings begin."
"A recorded statement."
"Yes.
He recorded it in this office, eight months ago." Mr.
Foss turned his laptop to face me.
"He wanted you to hear it in his own voice."
I looked at the screen.
A plain video file.
A thumbnail of Thomas sitting in this same chair, thinner than I remembered him even from our brief marriage, but upright.
Alert.
"Are you ready?" Mr.
Foss asked.
I wasn't.
I said yes anyway.
He pressed play.
Thomas looked directly at the camera.
His voice, when it came, was steadier than it had been on the phone.
*Eleanor.
If you're watching this, then you've read the letter and you know most of it.
I want to say the rest out loud, because I think you deserve to hear it spoken.*
*I left because I was a coward.
Your mother gave me a door and I walked through it.
I told myself for decades that I did it for you.
I didn't.
I did it because I was twenty-two and frightened and she made it easy.*
*I built a life.
I was not unhappy.
But there was always something missing, and I knew what it was.*
*I am leaving you what I have because it was always meant to be shared with you.
Not as payment.
Not as apology.
There is no amount of money that functions as an apology for fifty-five years.
I know that.*
*I am leaving it to you because you are the person I should have built it with.
And because I want you to have the freedom to find Robert without worrying about the cost of it — the travel, the time, whatever it takes.*
*Tell him I'm sorry too, if you think he'd want to hear it.*
*— Thomas*
The video ended.
The room was very quiet.
Carol reached over and put her hand on my arm.
I didn't look at her.
"Mrs.
Carter," Mr.
Foss said carefully.
"The challenge from Mr.
Holt is unlikely to succeed.
The recorded statement, combined with my own testimony as a witness to Thomas's capacity, makes the legal position quite strong.
However, I want you to be prepared for the fact that Richard Holt is not a man who accepts defeat quietly."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he has already contacted two of Thomas's former neighbors and asked them to provide statements about Thomas's behavior in his final year.
He is building a narrative." Mr.
Foss folded his hands.
"He may also attempt to contact you directly.
I would strongly advise that if he does, you refer him to me immediately and say nothing further."
"Has he already tried?"
Mr.
Foss hesitated.
That hesitation was its own answer.
"He came to the funeral," I said.
"Yes."
"The man who spoke to me near the door.
After the service."
"I believe so, yes."
I thought of the man who had stopped me as I was leaving.
Fifties, heavy through the shoulders, a face arranged into sympathy that hadn't quite reached his eyes.
He had said he was so sorry for my loss and that Thomas had spoken of me often.
He had held my hand a beat too long.
"He introduced himself as an old friend of the family," I said.
"He is Thomas's nephew.
The son of Thomas's younger brother." Mr.
Foss's voice stayed even.
"He stood to inherit the full estate under the previous will."
"How much was he expecting?"
"Everything."
Carol's hand tightened on my arm.
"What do I need to do?" I asked.
"For now?
Nothing except let me handle the legal response.
I'll file our counter-position by the end of the week." Mr.
Foss closed the folder.
"But Mrs.
Carter — I think you should know that Richard Holt has a particular way of operating.
He will not come at you directly at first.
He will come at the people around you."
I thought of David's phone call that morning.
The way he had said Thomas's family is already contesting it — not as information, but as a warning.
Or a test.
"He's already spoken to my son," I said.
Mr.
May you like
Foss nodded slowly.
"Then I would suggest," he said, "that you speak to your son before Richard Holt does again."
