Chapter 8: What Richard Knew
I called Mr.
Foss before I called anyone else.
He answered on the first ring.
"He texted me again," I said.
"A different number this time.
He said he knows something about Robert.
Something Robert is about to find out."
A pause.
"Forward me the message," Mr.
Foss said.
"Both of them."
I did.
"Mrs.
Carter, I want you to do something for me.
I want you to not respond to either message.
Not today, not tomorrow, not at all.
Can you do that?"
"What does he know about Robert?"
"I don't know yet.
But I have a strong suspicion about what he's implying, and I want to verify it before I tell you, because I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily."
"Mr.
Foss."
"Yes."
"Tell me the suspicion."
A longer pause.
"Thomas's will names you as primary beneficiary," he said carefully.
"But there is a secondary clause.
If you predecease the estate's distribution, or if you formally decline the inheritance, the estate passes to any biological children of Thomas's, should they be identified and verified."
I went very still.
"Thomas didn't have children," I said.
"Thomas didn't have children that he raised," Mr.
Foss said.
"The will was written with specific language.
Biological children.
The clause was added at the same time the will was updated.
Fourteen months ago."
I understood.
"Robert," I said.
"If Robert is Thomas's biological son — and the letter suggests Thomas believed he was — then Robert is also a named beneficiary.
Secondary to you, but named."
"And Richard Holt knows this."
"Richard Holt's attorney requested a full copy of the will two days after the funeral.
It's a matter of legal record.
He knows exactly what the clause says."
"So when he says he knows something Robert is about to find out—"
"He's threatening to tell Robert about the inheritance before you do.
To frame it in whatever way serves his challenge to the will." Mr.
Foss's voice was steady and precise.
"He wants Robert to believe that you knew about the clause.
That you contacted Robert for financial reasons.
That you are using a vulnerable man's desire to find his birth mother as a lever to secure the estate."
The room felt very cold.
"Robert called me vulnerable," I said.
"He said he'd been waiting eleven years."
"Which makes him exactly the kind of person Richard Holt would try to manipulate."
"I have to tell Robert myself.
Before Holt gets to him."
"I agree.
And I think you should tell him everything — the clause, the secondary inheritance, all of it.
Let him hear it from you, with full transparency, before he hears a distorted version from someone with a clear motive to distort it."
"He's coming to see me.
He said he'd come."
"When?"
"We didn't set a date yet."
"Set one soon.
And tell him before he arrives, not after." Mr.
Foss paused.
"Mrs.
Carter, I want to be direct with you.
Richard Holt is going to try to poison this.
He's going to try to make Robert doubt you, make your children doubt you, and make a judge doubt Thomas's intentions.
The only thing that defeats that is transparency.
Every truth spoken first, by you, before he can shape it."
"Understood."
"One more thing."
"Yes."
"I made some inquiries this morning.
About Richard Holt." A pause.
"This is not the first estate he has contested.
His own father's will, twelve years ago, was challenged on similar grounds.
Mental capacity.
Undue influence.
He lost that challenge as well."
"He's done this before."
"He has a pattern," Mr.
Foss said.
"And patterns are useful in court."
I thanked him and hung up.
Then I called Robert back.
He answered in two rings.
"Eleanor?
Is everything okay?"
"Yes.
I'm sorry to call so soon.
But there's something I need to tell you before we meet, and I need to tell you now, before someone else does."
A beat of silence.
"Okay," he said.
"I'm listening."
I told him everything.
The will.
The clause.
The secondary inheritance.
Richard Holt and his texts and his pattern and his motive.
Robert listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.
"So I might be in Thomas's will," he said.
"Yes."
"And this man — Holt — he was going to tell me that you knew.
To make me think you only called me because of the money."
"Yes."
Another silence.
"Eleanor." His voice was careful and deliberate.
"I've been looking for you for eleven years.
I have a good job and a house and two daughters who are fed and loved and doing fine.
I don't need an inheritance."
"I know."
"I need to know where I came from.
That's all I've ever needed."
My eyes burned.
"I know," I said again.
"Can I still come?"
"Please."
"Saturday," he said.
"I'll fly Saturday morning.
I'll be there by noon."
After we hung up, I sat in the kitchen and let myself cry properly for the first time since I had opened the box.
When I was done, I washed my face, made fresh coffee, and called Carol.
"He's coming Saturday," I said.
May you like
She was quiet for a moment.
"I'll bring lunch," she said.
