Chapter 6
The law office was on Main Street above the pharmacy, not fancy like the mansion. It smelled like paper and coffee. Dad carried the brown leather briefcase by its handle. I carried nothing, but I wore my same white dress, now with a cardigan over it because Dad said offices were cold.
Mr. Patel was Grandma's probate attorney. He was a younger man than I expected, with glasses he kept pushing up and a calm way of speaking. He had the cream legal document already on his desk, and he laid his hand on it when we came in, like it was something fragile.
"You've seen this?" he asked Dad.
"We opened the briefcase last night," Dad said. He set the briefcase on the desk and unclasped it. Inside was the same thick cream paper with LILY HAYES - SOLE BENEFICIER underlined and the cursive signature below it, plus a second page of typed conditions we hadn't read closely.
Mr. Patel nodded and pulled the document toward us. "Your mother came to me in January," he said, looking at Dad, then at me. "She was very clear. She said, 'I want everything — the house, the accounts — to go to my granddaughter, Lily Hayes, outright. My son will be guardian and trustee until she is eighteen. No one else will control it.' Those were her exact words. I typed them and she signed in front of two witnesses."
He turned the page over and showed us the signature, the date, and the two witness signatures below. He pointed to each one with his pen.
"Is it valid?" Dad asked.
"Fully," Mr. Patel said. "Recorded with the county clerk in February. It was effective on her passing. The house is currently titled in the estate, but beneficial interest is Lily's. That means your wife —" he hesitated — "your current wife has no legal claim to ownership or sale. She may reside there as your spouse, but she cannot dispose of property or make decisions about Lily's inheritance."
I didn't understand all the words, but I understood Dad's face. His jaw loosened. He exhaled.
"What about the east wing?" I asked quietly. "There's a key."
Mr. Patel smiled for the first time. "Ah. The key. Your grandmother mentioned that wing. She said she'd left it secured and the key would convey with the will. She told me, 'Let Lily open it when David is ready to walk with her.' She didn't tell me what's inside, only that it was personal."
Dad unzipped his jacket pocket and set the ornate silver skeleton key on the desk. Under the office fluorescents, the filigree bow glittered.
"Keep it safe," Mr. Patel advised. "And when you do open those doors, do it together, and maybe take photos. For the record."
On the drive back, Dad was quiet until we hit the county road that led to our hill. Then he said, "Your grandma trusted me to take care of you and what she left you. I should have asked more questions sooner."
I looked out at the gas stations and the school pick-up line we passed. "Will you tell stepmother what the lawyer said?"
"I have to," he said. "By law, she needs formal notice. Mr. Patel is sending a letter today."
That afternoon, when we got home, a thick envelope from the law office was already leaning against the inside of the bright double entry doors where the mail slot dropped it. Stepmother picked it up before we could. She held it with both hands, saw the return address, and her fair skin went very pale.
She didn't open it in front of us. She walked straight to the formal dining room — where the overturned chair had finally been set right and my little plate cleared away — and sat down alone at the long table under the crystal chandelier. She set the envelope down and just stared at it.
May you like
From the hallway, Dad watched her, his hand on my shoulder, the key zipped safely away. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The paper on that table was no longer just paper. It was a boundary line, and all of us knew it had just been drawn.
Behind us, at the far end of the blue-tinted hallway, the dark double doors waited for afternoon to come.
