Chapter 6: The Brother Mark Never Trusted
The filing box was on the top shelf of the wardrobe in our bedroom.
Mark had put it there himself, early in his illness, when he was still well enough to stand on a chair and reach.
He had said, *Everything important is in here.
You'll know when you need it.*
I had walked past that wardrobe every day for three months.
I lifted the box down and set it on the bed.
Diane sat in the chair by the window.
She didn't offer to help.
She understood I needed to do this part myself.
The box was organized the way Mark organized everything — quietly, precisely, without making a fuss of it.
Insurance documents.
The mortgage.
His will, already filed with a solicitor.
A folder labeled *Medical* that I set aside without opening.
Then a folder labeled *Estate — R.
Garrett, Solicitor.*
Inside was a letter on headed paper, dated fourteen months ago.
It confirmed the appointment of Richard Alan Holloway as power of attorney for financial matters, effective immediately, in the event that Mark became unable to manage his own affairs.
Richard Alan Holloway.
Mark's older brother.
An address in Bristol.
Underneath the letter was a handwritten note in Mark's writing — not addressed to anyone, just a few lines, like he had been thinking out loud on paper.
*Richard knows about the account.
I had to tell him — he needed the full picture to manage things properly.
He promised he would leave it alone.
I want to believe him.
I think I have to.*
I read it twice.
Mark had known it was a risk.
He had told Richard about Daniel's account because he had no choice — Richard needed to know what he was managing.
And he had hoped his brother would keep his word.
Richard hadn't.
I picked up my phone and called the number on the solicitor's letter.
It rang four times.
Then a woman's voice, professional and clipped.
"Garrett and Associates."
"I'd like to speak with Mr.
Garrett," I said.
"My name is Sarah Holloway.
My husband was Mark Holloway.
I'm calling about his estate."
A pause.
"One moment."
The hold music was something bland and forgettable.
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Mark's handwriting on that note.
*I think I have to.*
"Mrs.
Holloway." A man's voice, careful.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you.
I need to ask you about an account that was set up through your firm.
A discretionary account for a child named Daniel.
It was closed approximately ten months ago.
I need to know who authorized that closure."
Silence.
"Mrs.
Holloway, matters relating to the estate—"
"My husband is gone," I said.
"I am his wife and the executor of his will.
I am asking you a direct question."
Another silence, longer.
"The closure was authorized by the power of attorney," Garrett said finally.
"Mr.
Richard Holloway."
"On what grounds?"
"He indicated the account was no longer required.
That the — that the relevant party had been — that circumstances had changed."
"The relevant party was a four-year-old child," I said.
"Circumstances had not changed.
The child still existed."
Garrett said nothing.
"I want a full record of every transaction and every instruction relating to that account," I said.
"I want it in writing, sent to my address, within five working days."
"Mrs.
Holloway, I'm not certain that—"
"Mr.
Garrett." I kept my voice even.
"My husband set up that account deliberately, with your firm, for a specific purpose.
Someone used a legal instrument to close it without the knowledge or consent of the account's intended beneficiary.
I would like to resolve this quietly.
But I am prepared to be less quiet if I need to be."
A long pause.
"I'll have the records prepared," he said.
I ended the call.
Diane was watching me from the chair.
"He'll send them," I said.
"And Richard?"
I looked at the Bristol address on the letter.
"Richard doesn't know I exist," I said.
"Mark never told him about me — not really.
I was just the wife.
Background."
"That might work in your favor."
"I think it already has." I set the letter down.
"He closed that account because he thought no one was watching.
He thought Daniel was just a name in a file that would disappear when Caroline died."
"He didn't count on Mark leaving you a letter."
"No," I said.
"He didn't."
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
*Mrs.
Holloway.
My name is Richard.
I understand you've been making inquiries about Mark's estate.
I think we should talk.
There may be some confusion I can clear up.*
I stared at the message.
Garrett had called him.
Of course he had.
I showed the screen to Diane.
She read it and looked up.
"He's already moving," she said.
"Yes." I set the phone face-down on the bed.
"Let him think I'm confused.
Let him think he can clear it up over a phone call."
I picked up Caroline's journal from where I had set it on the nightstand.
"He doesn't know about this," I said.
"He doesn't know Caroline kept a record.
He doesn't know she named him."
Diane leaned forward.
"What are you going to do?"
I thought of Daniel on the floor in front of the television.
The drawings on the refrigerator.
The tricycle tipped on its side.
"I'm going to let Richard talk," I said.
"And I'm going to listen very carefully to everything he says."
I picked up my phone and typed back a single line.
*Of course.
I'd welcome the chance to speak.
Shall we meet in person?*
His reply came in under a minute.
*I can come to you.
Tomorrow afternoon, if that suits.*
I looked at Diane.
"He's coming here," I said.
She sat back slowly.
"He wants to see what you know."
May you like
"Yes." I set the phone down.
"And I want to see what he does when he thinks he's the one in control."
