And a note written in his shaky handwriting:
“Helena, if you are reading this, Matthew already tried to do to you what he wanted to do to me. Do not sign anything. The house must not be sold. There is an account in your name. And there is proof.”
I couldn’t keep reading.
I covered my mouth and cried, sitting on the floor of the sewing room, with Nancy praying in a low voice behind me.
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Sarah took the thumb drive.
“We need to see this.”
On Anthony’s old computer, the first folder appeared:
“MATTHEW.”
Inside were recordings.
In one, Matthew was talking on the phone on the porch.
“If mom signs, I am sending her to Lyon with Paula. Nobody is going to bring her back from there. Then we sell the Brooklyn house and close the matter.”
Paula.
My daughter-in-law.
Lily’s mother.
I thought she was in France happy, working, because that is what Matthew told us.
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Lily was living with him “temporarily” in New York because Paula traveled a lot.
Another recording left me completely cold.
Paula’s voice was crying.
“Matthew, you cannot take my daughter away from me.”
And he replied:
“Then sign the agreement and stop causing trouble. My mother is going to come, she is going to convince Lily that everything is fine. If not, I will say you are unstable.”
Paula wasn’t far away by choice.
They had separated her.
Just as they were trying to separate me.
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“Lily…” I whispered.
At that moment, a loud knock sounded at the front door.
Matthew walked in like a storm.
He wasn’t alone.
He brought a man in a suit and another in a white shirt carrying a medical briefcase.
“Mom,” he said, trying to smile when he saw Sarah and Paul. “I am glad you are here. I was very worried.”
“Do not come near me,” I said.
He stopped.
I had never spoken to him like that.
“You are upset. That is why I brought Dr. Esteves. We just want to check on you.”
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Sarah stood in front of me.
“Mrs. Barbosa does not authorize any private evaluation.”
Matthew clenched his jaw.
“I am her son.”
“And I am her lawyer.”
The man in the suit spoke:
“There are signed documents.”
Paul raised the metal box.
“And there are better documents.”
Matthew saw the box.
His face changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
“Where did you find that?”
“Where your father knew you were never going to look,” I said. “In a place in the house that didn’t bring in money.”
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He stepped forward suddenly.
“Mom, give me the box.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what you are doing.”
“For the first time in months, I do.”
