Evelyn kept staring at my mother's message until the screen went dark.
I waited.
She didn't move.
“What isn't she telling me?” I asked again.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you'd hear it the wrong way.”
“Then tell me before I decide what it means.”
She swallowed. “Your mother didn't start all of this because she hated me.”
I frowned.
“She started it because she wanted something from you.”
“What?”
“You.”
I almost laughed, but the look on her face stopped me.
“That's what all this is about?”
“No.” Evelyn shook her head. “That's only part of it.”
She stood and walked to the bedroom. I followed, watching the careful way she moved. She opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and pushed aside folded clothes until her fingers found something beneath a stack of sweaters.
A small brown envelope.
She held it for several seconds before handing it to me.
“I found this in your mother's room six months ago.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you show me?”
“Because I wasn't sure what it meant.”
I opened it.
Inside were photocopies of documents, an old photograph, and a handwritten letter.
The photograph showed my father standing beside a younger Nora.
I had seen it before.
What I had never noticed was the man standing behind them.
My uncle Richard.
My father's older brother.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
Three weeks before my father died.
My father had been dead for seventeen years.
“What does Richard have to do with this?”
Evelyn sat down.
“Read the letter.”
The handwriting was my father's.
I knew it immediately.
The letter was addressed to Richard.
I read it twice before the meaning settled.
My father had written that he was concerned about Nora's financial decisions and wanted certain family assets placed into a trust for me. He had specifically written that Nora was not to control the money directly.
My hands went cold.
“Why have I never seen this?”
“Because it wasn't in your father's files.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In the back of your mother's closet.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Nora had left a box behind when she moved out.
A black plastic storage bin.
I had never opened it.
I went to the guest room.
The box sat beneath a pile of old blankets.
I carried it to the kitchen.
Evelyn stood beside me.
Inside were tax records, photographs, receipts, old birthday cards, and documents from the years after my father's death.
At the bottom was a sealed envelope bearing the name of an attorney.
I opened it.
The document inside was a copy of a trust agreement.
My name appeared several times.
So did my mother's.
And so did the name of a company I didn't recognize.
I looked at Evelyn.
“What's this company?”
“I don't know.”
I read further.
The company had been established shortly before my father's death.
Its purpose was to hold a portion of his business interests until I reached a certain age.
But there was a problem.
I had never received those interests.
According to the documents, they had been transferred years earlier.
I checked the date.
The transfer had occurred when I was twenty-four.
My mother had signed it.
So had someone else.
I read the second signature.
Richard.
My uncle.
I sat down.
Evelyn pulled a chair beside me.
“Your father left something for you,” she said. “Your mother made sure you never knew about it.”
I stared at the papers.
“That doesn't explain why she hurt you.”
“No.”
She touched the envelope.
“But it explains why she needed you to trust her.”
I looked up.
The connection was beginning to form.
If I had questioned my mother, if I had become financially independent from her, if I had discovered what my father had intended, she might have lost control over something much larger than our household.
“She was afraid I'd find out.”
“Yes.”
“About the trust.”
“And something else.”
I waited.
Evelyn took a breath.
“Your father didn't die as suddenly as everyone told you.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What do you mean?”
“He had been sick.”
“I knew he was sick.”
“He was supposed to recover.”
I stared at her.
“He was supposed to come home from the hospital.”
She nodded.
“He never did.”
I remembered that week.
I remembered my mother telling me to stay with relatives because the hospital was too far away.
I remembered being told my father had suffered complications.
I remembered the funeral.
But I did not remember speaking to his doctor.
I did not remember seeing his final medical records.
I had never asked.
My mother had handled everything.
Evelyn reached into the box again.
“There was another envelope.”
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
It was not a letter.
It was a receipt.
A payment made to a private investigator.
The date was six weeks after my father's death.
The recipient was Richard.
I looked at Evelyn.
“Why would my uncle pay an investigator?”
“I don't know.”
I turned the receipt over.
There was a phone number written on the back.
Underneath it, in my mother's handwriting, were four words.
Find out what he knows.
My heart began pounding.
“Who is he?”
“I don't know.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“I need to call Richard.”
Evelyn caught my wrist.
“Julian.”
I looked at her.
“Your mother may have expected you to find these.”
The thought stopped me.
“What?”
“She sent that message knowing you would ask me questions.”
“You think she wanted me to find this?”
“I think she wants you looking in a direction she chose.”
I stared at the documents.
It was possible.
Nora had spent years anticipating questions before I asked them.
She knew how to redirect me.
But there was something she couldn't control.
The paperwork.
The dates.
The signatures.
The evidence.
My phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
I answered.
“Julian?”
The man's voice was older.
Careful.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Richard.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She went completely still.
My uncle continued.
“Your mother told me you had started asking questions.”
“How did you know?”
“Because she called me this morning.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did she tell you?”
There was a pause.
“She told me you had found your father's papers.”
I looked at the box.
“Where are you?”
“Two hours away.”
“I'll come to you.”
“Don't.”
His voice sharpened.
“Not until you hear what I'm about to tell you.”
I said nothing.
Richard took a breath.
“Your father did not leave your mother in control of everything.”
My eyes moved to the trust documents.
“I know.”
“No, Julian.”
He sounded almost frightened.
“You don't know the worst part.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Uncle Finally Explained What Happened After My Father’s Death, but His Story Raised a Question About the Woman I Had Trusted Most
I Thought I Was Bringing My Pregnant Wife a Small Surprise Until I Opened the Door and Saw My Mother Standing Over Her
Part 5 of 12
