Chapter 6: The Estate
I stood on the sidewalk with the cold coming through my coat and said, "I'm sorry — what estate?"
"Your grandfather's estate," Carol Haines said.
"Aldo Conti.
He passed away fourteen months ago in Verona.
He left a will.
Your mother is named in it."
Mom had stopped walking.
She was watching my face.
"Hold on," I said into the phone.
"Please hold on one moment."
I lowered it.
"Mom.
Did you know your father passed away?"
Her expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
"I assumed he had," she said.
"He would have been ninety-three."
"Did you know he left a will?"
Now something shifted.
Just around her eyes.
"No," she said.
I put the phone back to my ear.
"Ms.
Haines.
My mother is with me.
Can you tell me the basics tonight?"
"Of course.
Your grandfather owned property in Verona.
A farmhouse and approximately four hectares of land.
He also held a modest investment account through an Italian bank.
The total estate value has been assessed at roughly 380,000 euros." Another careful pause.
"Your mother is listed as the primary heir.
However, the will is being contested."
"By whom?"
"By your grandfather's second wife.
Her name is Giuliana Conti.
She married your grandfather in 1987.
She has two adult children from a previous marriage.
They are arguing that your mother abandoned the family and therefore has no rightful claim."
I looked at my mother.
She was watching me with the stillness of someone who has learned over a lifetime not to react until they have all the information.
"My mother didn't abandon anyone," I said.
"She was put on a plane at eighteen years old."
"I understand.
That is precisely why the firm has been trying to reach you.
We believe the contest is without merit, but we need documentation.
Letters, records, anything that establishes what actually happened in 1968."
"We'll call you Monday," I said.
"Of course.
I'll send the case file to the email address we have on record."
I hung up.
Mom and I stood on the sidewalk looking at each other.
"How much?" she said.
"About 380,000 euros."
She was quiet for a moment.
"He had money," she said.
"All that time.
He had money and he put me on a plane with forty dollars."
There was no anger in her voice.
That was the thing that got me.
There was no anger.
There was something older than anger.
Something that had been sitting in a closed room for fifty years and had simply run out of heat.
"They're contesting the will," I said.
"His second wife."
"Of course they are."
"We need documentation.
Letters, records—"
"I have letters," Mom said.
I stopped.
"What letters?"
"The ones he sent me.
The first three years after I came to Cleveland." She started walking again, slowly, toward the car.
"I wrote back twice.
After the second letter he sent back my envelope unopened.
I stopped writing." She reached the passenger door and waited for me to unlock it.
"I kept his letters.
All of them.
They're in the blue box in my closet, under the winter blankets."
I unlocked the car.
We got in.
I sat for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel.
"Mom.
Those letters could prove everything."
"I know."
"They could show that he sent you away.
That you didn't leave."
"I know, Rosanna."
"Why didn't you ever—"
"Because I didn't want his money." She said it simply, without drama.
"I didn't want anything from him.
I built my life without him and I was proud of that." A pause.
"But I'm seventy-eight years old and my knees hurt and your brother Daniel works too hard and Paul's youngest needs braces." She looked out the window.
"Maybe it's time to stop being proud."
I started the car.
We drove in silence for a few minutes.
Then Mom said, "Call Marco tomorrow."
I glanced at her.
"He'll know lawyers in Italy," she said.
"He's been here thirty-one years, he'll know people." She folded her hands in her lap.
"Besides.
He deserves to know there's more to this story."
I thought about the business card in my pocket.
I thought about the paralegal's careful voice.
I thought about a blue box under winter blankets in my mother's closet, holding fifty years of evidence that no one had ever asked to see.
"Okay," I said.
"I'll call him tomorrow."
May you like
Mom nodded and closed her eyes.
She was asleep before we reached the highway.
