Chapter 12 - He Put the Call on Speaker
I did not move off the sill. My legs had gone numb from holding still, and the curtain rope burned into my palm where I gripped it, but I knew better than to shift my weight while Daniel still had paper in one hand and his phone in the other. The daylight coming through the sheer had turned whiter, late-morning hard. Dust hung in it.
Daniel laid the codicil flat on the wide wood of the window frame, away from the edge. He smoothed the crease with the side of his thumb.
"This doesn't prove anything by itself," he said. He looked at Mrs. Hale. "You know that."
"I know typed pages can be made on any computer," his mother said. Her voice was steadier now. The pearls at her throat moved when she swallowed. "Daniel, be reasonable."
Hale did not let go of the lower curtain. She stayed kneeling, her knuckles white. "Then be reasonable and check," she said. "Call Mr. Peterson."
My husband pulled his phone from his back pocket. His hands were shaking enough that he had to steady the phone with both hands to get the camera open. He took a photo of the first page, then the second, the signature page with his father's looping signature and the two witness initials. The shutter sound clicked too loud in the quiet room.
I watched his face in profile. His mouth was pressed thin. He swiped, checking the pictures were clear, and enlarged the signature with his fingers.
"Who's Peterson?" I asked. My voice came out hoarse.
"My dad's lawyer," Daniel said, not looking up. "Downtown. On Fourth."
He found the contact and hit call. He stared at the phone while it rang. Once. Twice. I could hear the faint tone because the room was that silent. I counted my own breaths so I would not hold them.
"Peterson Law Office," a woman answered.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Hi, this is Daniel — Daniel Mercer. I need to speak to Mr. Peterson. It's about my father's will. It's urgent."
His mother stepped forward. "Daniel, hang up."
He turned his shoulder, blocking her. "Please," he said into the phone. "Tell him it's urgent."
A pause stretched. I heard muffled music on hold. Hale looked up at me and gave one small nod, keep breathing. My calves trembled against the sill. The sheer curtain moved against my ankle.
Then a man's voice, older, careful. "Daniel? What is it, son?"
Daniel swallowed. "Mr. Peterson, I'm at the house. We have — there's a document here. A codicil dated March. It says my dad changed the trust. That my — that Elena's child gets a share and she's trustee." He glanced at me. "My mom says it's not real."
His mother reached for the phone. "Give me that. This is a family matter."
Daniel lifted the phone higher, out of her reach, and with his other thumb he tapped the screen. The speaker icon lit.
"Don't," his mother said. "Daniel, don't embarrass us like this."
Peterson's voice came through the speaker, thin but clear. "Daniel, are you looking at the paper now?"
"Yes, sir. I photographed it."
"Read me the date and the execution paragraph at the bottom."
Daniel held the second page close. "Executed this fourteenth day of March, at Mercer residence, in presence of witnesses."
"And the witnesses?"
"R. Hale and J. Torres."
Hale spoke up from the floor, still holding the curtain. "Rosa Hale. That's me. Mr. Torres was hospice."
There was a sound of papers on Peterson's end. A drawer. I pressed my back harder against the window frame. The glass was warm from the sun against my shoulder blades through my dress.
"Daniel," Peterson said. "I have the executed copy in my file. Same date. Same witnesses. Your father signed it here in my office the following Monday and we notarized it. It's valid unless a court says otherwise."
Nobody moved. The daylight did not change, but the room felt louder.
"You're sure?" Daniel asked quietly.
"I'm looking at it, son."
My mother-in-law lunged. Not a stumble — a hard, fast grab for the phone in Daniel's hand. Her green sleeve brushed his gray shirt. Her fingers caught the edge of the case.
Daniel jerked back, keeping hold. "Mom!"
"Turn that off," she hissed. "You have no right —"
He stepped sideways, keeping the phone raised between them. Peterson was still on the line. "Hello? Daniel? Is everything all right there?"
Daniel stared at his mother. His face had gone pale under the flush. "Yeah," he said, but his eyes stayed on her hand still reaching. "Mr. Peterson, thank you. I'll — I'll call you back."
"Daniel, listen to me," Peterson said. "Do not destroy or move any papers. Keep everyone —"
His mother pressed her palm toward the phone as if she could end the call by covering it. Daniel ended it himself and lowered the phone slowly to his side.
May you like
He looked at Hale. Then at me. Then down at the codicil still lying on the window frame, held from blowing by his own thumb.
His mother stood with her hand still out in the air where the phone had been.
