PART5

Then he said, “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

I almost asked him whether he had considered what he was doing to me.

But I didn’t.

I simply said, “I’ll speak to you when I’m ready.”

And ended the call.

That afternoon, I went through a box of old paperwork in the upstairs bedroom.

It contained documents from my father’s transfer of the house, insurance records, old photographs, and several folders I hadn’t opened in years.

I was looking for the deed.

I wanted to have everything ready for Rebecca.

But while sorting through the documents, I found something else.

A folder labeled:

WHITMORE FAMILY — PROPERTY

I recognized my handwriting.

I had created the folder eight years earlier after Russ asked me to help organize some paperwork involving his mother’s estate.

Inside were copies of property-tax statements, insurance documents, and a legal agreement involving Dolores.

I pulled out the last document.

It was an agreement concerning a property she owned before moving into Magnolia Court.

A small house outside Dayton.

I remembered the property.

Dolores had complained for years that it was too expensive to maintain, and Russ had repeatedly suggested selling it.

According to the document, the property had been transferred into a family trust.

The beneficiaries were listed on the second page.

Wayne Whitmore.

Russ Whitmore.

And a third name.

Ellen Carter Whitmore.

I stared at it.

My name.

I had completely forgotten about this arrangement.

I turned to the final page.

There was a clause stating that any sale, transfer, or substantial financial transaction involving the property required written authorization from the designated trustees.

I wasn’t a trustee.

But I was listed as a beneficiary.

I placed the document on the table.

Something about it bothered me.

Why had Dolores given me the Magnolia Court envelope at dinner?

Why had she insisted that I take care of it?

And why had Russ sounded so frightened when I mentioned the money?

I returned to the folder and looked through the remaining pages.

There was a handwritten note dated six months earlier.

It was from Wayne.

Russ — We need to finish this before the next review. Mom doesn’t want another delay. Ellen doesn’t need to be involved. Just get her to sign the paperwork when the time comes.

I read the sentence again.

Then again.

My heart began beating faster.

I didn’t know what paperwork Wayne was talking about.

But I knew I had never signed anything concerning the sale of Dolores’s property.

I took a photograph of the note and saved it.

Then I placed everything back in the folder.

For the first time since leaving the restaurant, I felt something stronger than hurt.

I felt alert.

Because perhaps the anniversary dinner hadn’t been an isolated moment of cruelty.

Perhaps it was connected to something much bigger.

At 5:42 that evening, my phone rang.

It was an unfamiliar number.

I answered.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Whitmore? My name is Patricia. I’m calling from Magnolia Court.”

“Yes, Patricia.”

“I apologize for contacting you directly, but there is something I think you should know.”

I sat down.

“What is it?”

She hesitated.

“Your mother-in-law came into our administrative office this afternoon. She was very upset about the overdue balance.”

“I see.”

“She asked us to provide copies of the payment records and the original financial agreement.”

“Did you give them to her?”

“We provided the documents she was authorized to receive.”

“All right.”

There was another pause.

Then Patricia lowered her voice slightly.

“Mrs. Whitmore, she also asked us to remove your name from the emergency contact and financial correspondence records.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“She said you were no longer involved in her affairs.”

I looked toward the envelope on the table.

That was strange.

I had already told her I wouldn’t handle the payments until the missing money was explained.

But there was something else.

“Patricia, did she say anything about the overdue balance?”

“Yes. She said the money had already been paid and that the facility must have made an accounting error.”

My stomach tightened.

“Did she identify who made the payments?”

“She said her son had taken care of everything.”

I closed my eyes.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure you were aware, especially because your name appeared on several previous authorization forms.”

After the call ended, I looked at my phone.

A new text message had arrived.

It was from Joanne.

Ellen, please call me. I think you need to know what’s happening. Wayne is at Russ’s house, and they’re looking for something.

I stared at the message.

Before I could respond, another message appeared.

I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I heard them talking about the house your father left you.

My fingers went cold.

I typed:

What about my father’s house?

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then Joanne sent one final message.

They think you signed something years ago. Russ says the paperwork is somewhere in your father’s house.

I looked around the kitchen.

The house was quiet.

The old photographs were still on the walls. My mother’s yellow kettle was on the stove. The furnace was running.

And suddenly, I understood why Russ had spent so many years calling this place a waste of money.

He hadn’t just disliked the house.

He had been interested in something connected to it.

My phone rang again.

This time, it was Russ.

I answered without saying hello.

His voice was unusually calm.

“Ellie, listen to me. I need you to do something.”

“What?”

“I want you to go upstairs and check your father’s old office.”

I stood very still.

“Why?”

“There’s a folder in the bottom drawer of the desk. Bring it home.”

“What folder?”

He paused.

Then he said something that made my blood run cold.

“The one you signed before we got married.”

I looked toward the old wooden desk at the end of the hallway.

I hadn’t opened its bottom drawer in years.

“Russ,” I said slowly, “what exactly did I sign?”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he replied:

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Ellen. Just find the folder.”

And he hung up.

I didn’t move.

Because suddenly, the anniversary dinner, the missing money, Wayne’s mysterious transfers, Dolores’s envelope, and the note about getting me to sign paperwork all seemed connected.

And whatever was inside that drawer…

I had a terrible feeling that Russ had been waiting fifteen years for me to forget it existed.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…