The birthday cake was still in my hands when I heard her say it.

Detective Ruiz called back at seven the next morning.

Amy was asleep in the chair beside Frederick's hospital bed, her head tipped against her shoulder, still in the same clothes from the night before.

Frederick was sleeping too, his fever down to 99, one small hand curled around the edge of his blanket.

I stepped into the hallway to take the call.

"We pulled the deed records on the Clarksville property," Ruiz said.

"Your mother filed a transfer of ownership claim eight months ago.

She listed herself as the sole heir and submitted a copy of what she claimed was your father's handwritten will."

"My father didn't leave a handwritten will.

Teresa told me there was no will at all."

"The document she submitted has been flagged.

The county recorder's office put a hold on the transfer six weeks ago because the notary stamp didn't match any active license in the state of Tennessee." He paused.

"That's why the law firm was writing to you.

They were trying to warn you before the hold expired."

"What happens when the hold expires?"

"The transfer goes through automatically.

Mr.

Bradley, that hold expires in eleven days."

I leaned against the wall.

"What do I need to do?" I asked.

"I'd strongly recommend you contact the law firm today and formally contest the transfer.

I can give you the name of the attorney assigned to your father's estate.

I'd also recommend you get your own legal representation before you do anything else."

"Is she going to be charged?"

A brief silence.

"The forgery on the house deed is already enough for the DA to work with.

The Clarksville situation adds a second count.

Whether they pursue both depends on what else comes out of the investigation." He cleared his throat.

"And there may be more coming out."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we've been in contact with the bank that processed your monthly transfers to your mother.

Thirty-six months of payments.

We're pulling the transaction records now."

Thirty-six thousand dollars.

I did the math standing in a hospital hallway at seven in the morning.

"She spent it," I said.

It wasn't a question.

"We'll know more in forty-eight hours," Ruiz said.

"In the meantime — the law firm.

Today."

I hung up and stood there for a moment.

Then I went back into Frederick's room, wrote the attorney's name and number on a notepad from the bedside table, kissed my son on the forehead without waking him, and walked down to the hospital lobby to make the call.

The attorney's name was Patricia Holt.

She answered on the second ring and did not sound surprised to hear from me.

"Mr.

Bradley," she said.

"We've been hoping you'd call."

"I only just found out about the letters," I said.

"My wife found them hidden in our house."

"Hidden." A pause.

"That's consistent with what we suspected.

We sent the first letter fourteen months ago.

When we received no response, we sent two more.

When those went unanswered, we filed a formal inquiry with the county recorder's office.

That's what triggered the hold."

"My mother intercepted all three letters."

"I see." Her voice stayed level, but something in it sharpened.

"Mr.

Bradley, I need to ask you directly — do you intend to contest the transfer claim?"

"Yes.

Absolutely yes."

"Good.

I'll need you to come in and sign a formal objection.

Given the eleven-day window, I'd like to do that today if possible."

"I can be there by noon."

"One more thing," Patricia said.

"When we filed the inquiry with the county recorder, we also sent a copy to a second party — someone else your father named in the original estate documents."

I frowned.

"Who?"

"Your father had a brother.

A younger brother.

He left him a small bequest — a piece of equipment and some tools from the property.

We've been in contact with him as well.

He's been trying to reach you for months."

My father had a brother.

I had never heard of him.

"That's not possible," I said.

"My mother told me my father was an only child."

Patricia Holt didn't answer immediately.