Chapter 4: Grandfather’s Real Voice
I drove straight to Grace Mercer, an attorney who had helped my company with a financial investigation.
She opened her door in slippers and stared at the music box.
“Tell me you didn’t come here at midnight for legal advice about a melody.”
“My family’s lawyer threatened me, and my grandfather left this.”
Grace read the note twice.
“Where are the drives?”
I placed them on her kitchen table.
She connected the memory card to an old laptop that had never touched her office network.
Grandfather’s face appeared on the screen.
“Genevieve,” he said, “if you are watching this, Raymond read the false will.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Grace paused the video.
“Did you know there were two wills?”
“No.”
“Then we watch every second.”
She pressed play.
“The blue drive contains records your father already knows about.
Let him fight for it.
The red drive holds the transfers Raymond missed.
The black drive holds recordings from my study.
The music box contains the trust certificate beneath the velvet.”
Grace lifted the lining with a letter opener.
A notarized certificate lay underneath, dated eight months earlier.
“This predates the will,” she said.
“If the trust was properly funded, your father never inherited the house.”
My phone rang.
Raymond’s name filled the screen.
“Answer it,” Grace said.
“Put him on speaker.”
“Genevieve,” Raymond began, “your father is willing to be generous.
Return the drives, and he will give you fifty thousand dollars.”
“The same amount shown on Grandfather’s canceled check to you?”
Silence came through the speaker.
“That payment was for legal services.”
“What services?”
“Privileged ones.”
“Grandfather’s recording says you prepared a false will.”
Raymond breathed slowly.
“You should be careful about edited recordings.”
Grace leaned toward the phone.
“Good evening, Raymond.”
“Who is this?”
“Grace Mercer.
Genevieve is represented now.”
His voice hardened.
“Then advise your client that an emergency petition will be filed at nine tomorrow morning.”
“File it,” Grace said.
“I enjoy reading sworn statements.”
Raymond ended the call.
At the county recorder’s office the next morning, a clerk named Mrs.
Bell pulled the property history.
She tapped one entry with her pencil.
“The trust deed was recorded eight months ago,” she said.
“But this later document transferred the property back to Elias Ward.”
“Who filed it?” Grace asked.
Mrs.
Bell turned the screen.
“Raymond Vance.”
The transfer carried Grandfather’s signature, but the date was six days after he had lost the use of his right hand.
“That isn’t his signature,” I said.
“Can you prove it?” Grace asked.
“I changed his bandages that morning.
He couldn’t hold a spoon.”
Mrs.
Bell printed the filing.
“There’s something else.
The witness was your mother.”
I called her from the parking lot.
“Did you witness Grandfather sign a property transfer?”
“You have no right to question me.”
“That is not an answer.”
Mother lowered her voice.
“Your father said it was routine.”
“Were you in the room when Grandfather signed it?”
“He trusted your father.”
“Were you in the room?”
“No.”
Grace held out her hand for the phone.
“Then someone submitted a false witness statement in your name.”
Mother gasped.
“Raymond said no one would ever examine it.”
The line went quiet.
“You knew,” I said.
“I knew there were documents.
I did not know what they would do.”
“You watched Chloe laugh at me over a trinket.”
“Your sister doesn’t understand any of this.”
“But you do.”
Mother disconnected.
At nine, Raymond filed his emergency petition.
At eleven, a court officer delivered it to Grace’s office.
Grace read the first page and set it down.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“They want all three drives surrendered.
They also want you suspended as a potential trustee.”
“On what grounds?”
May you like
She turned the petition toward me.
Raymond had accused me of creating the trust deed myself—and using my federal accounting access to manufacture every record in the safe.
