Chapter 5: The Will That Wasn't
The law office of Daniel Frey occupied the fourteenth floor of a building that smelled of old carpet and real work — the kind of office that had no reception sculpture, no imported marble, no one to offer you sparkling water when you arrived.
Elliot had chosen it deliberately.
Frey was in his sixties, compact, with the careful eyes of someone who had spent decades reading documents that other people hoped no one would read carefully.
He looked at the note Rosa had found.
He looked at it for a long time without speaking.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" Elliot said.
"It might, eventually.
For now — no." Frey set the note down.
"This is the name of Arthur Bellamy.
He was your father's attorney for nineteen years.
He was removed from the account fourteen months before your father passed."
"My mother said he retired."
"He didn't retire." Frey folded his hands.
"He was pressured out.
I know Arthur.
We trained together.
He called me the week after it happened.
He couldn't say much — privilege issues — but he told me enough.
He said the family had brought in someone new.
Someone more willing to accommodate certain instructions."
"Hargrove."
"Yes."
Nora leaned forward.
"What kind of instructions?"
Frey looked at her carefully.
"The kind that change the meaning of a document without changing enough of the words to make it obvious." He picked up the note again.
"This note, in your mother's handwriting, referencing Bellamy by name and using the phrase 'the original arrangement' — that is significant.
Because it suggests she knew there was an original arrangement.
One that was changed."
"Can you prove the will was altered?" Elliot asked.
"Not today.
But I can begin the process of finding out." Frey looked at him steadily.
"You understand what you're asking.
If the will was tampered with, this becomes a matter for the courts.
It will be public.
It will be ugly.
Your mother will fight it with every resource she has, and she has considerable resources."
"I know."
"And you still want to proceed."
Elliot looked at Nora.
She gave a small, steady nod.
"My father built that company," Elliot said.
"He built it for his family.
All of it.
Not as a weapon." He looked back at Frey.
"If she changed his will to cut out the people he loved, then what she's been managing for three years isn't his legacy.
It's a theft."
Frey was quiet for a moment.
Then he reached for a yellow legal pad.
"Tell me everything," he said.
"From the beginning."
They were there for two hours.
When they came out onto the street, the afternoon had turned grey, a thin wind moving between the buildings.
Nora stopped on the pavement and turned her face up slightly, eyes closed for just a second.
"Are you all right?" Elliot asked.
"I'm thinking about your father," she said.
"I only met him four times before he got sick.
But he was kind to me.
Every time.
He called me by my name.
He asked about my work." She opened her eyes.
"Your mother never once asked about my work."
"I know."
"He would have wanted this." She looked at Elliot.
"He would have wanted someone to look."
Elliot's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He glanced at it.
A message from a number he didn't recognize.
Eight words.
*She knows you went to see a lawyer.*
He showed it to Nora.
She read it.
Looked up.
"Rosa?" she asked.
He was already dialing.
The call rang four times.
Five.
May you like
Six.
It went to voicemail.
