I signaled the guard to escort them off the driveway, and I cut the intercom feed.
The following morning, Thomas arrived for a sit-down we had booked weeks in advance. His deep-dive audit of David Vance’s files was finally finished.
He walked in carrying a scuffed leather portfolio.
“When my legal notice hit David’s corporate compliance office, they uncovered this in a locked digital archive he managed,” Thomas explained. “Robert left explicit instructions that this file should be handed over to me if he passed away before our next meeting.”
Robert’s familiar handwriting was scrawled across the cover.
For Eleanor—when the time is right.
Inside was a letter dated just one week prior to his death. Robert had actually booked a meeting with Thomas and me, but his fatal heart attack struck before it could happen.
My dearest Eleanor, the letter read. I pray that I am just being paranoid. But the kids have been asking pointed questions about your capacity to handle the estate and the accounts if I go first.
I spent my life working so you would never have to rely on anyone who didn’t treat you with respect. If our children show you true care, be generous with them. But if they only measure your value by their future inheritance, do not give them a single dime they can use as leverage.
Robert had stapled notes from a private meeting he held six months before he died. He had found out that our kids were interrogating David about the deed and the trust fund.
Jessica had asked if Eleanor could be convinced to sell.
Brandon demanded that he be put in charge of the investment portfolio.
