“You said it was urgent,” I replied, shaking his hand. “What’s this about?”
He gestured for me to sit and pulled out a thick folder from his desk drawer.
“I’ve been your grandfather’s attorney for forty years. When he died, I handled his estate according to his wishes. But there was one provision in his will that was kept sealed. A provision that could only be opened under specific conditions.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind of provision?”
“Your grandfather loved you very much, Anna. He saw how your parents treated you, and it broke his heart. So he made arrangements to protect you.”
Henry opened the folder and slid a document across the desk.
“He established a trust fund in your name. Fifty thousand dollars to be released when you turned thirty, or when you obtained a professional degree—whichever came first.”
I stared at the document, unable to speak.
Fifty thousand dollars.
It was more money than I’d ever had. More than I’d ever imagined having.
“You passed the bar exam two years ago,” Henry continued. “That met the conditions. The money has been sitting in trust, accumulating interest. It’s now worth nearly sixty thousand.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” My voice came out as a whisper.
“Your grandfather’s instructions were explicit. The trust was to remain completely confidential until you met the conditions. He didn’t want your parents to know about it. Didn’t want them to interfere or try to claim it for themselves. He knew them too well.”
I thought about my grandfather, the quiet man who’d always had a kind word for me when my parents didn’t. He’d been the only one who believed I could be something more than what my parents said I was.
“There’s something else,” Henry said, pulling out an envelope. “Your grandfather wrote you a letter. He asked me to give it to you when the time came.”
My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper covered in my grandfather’s careful handwriting.
Dear Anna,
If you’re reading this, then you’ve done what I always knew you could do. You’ve made something of yourself despite everything they’ve thrown at you. I’m proud of you. Even though I won’t be there to tell you in person.
I know your parents have made your life difficult. I’ve watched them favor your sister. Watched them tear you down whenever you tried to rise. It broke my heart, but I couldn’t change them. All I could do was try to give you a foundation to build on.
This money isn’t a solution to all your problems, but it’s a start. Use it wisely. Build the life you deserve. And remember, you are worth more than they will ever understand.
There’s one more thing I need you to know. I was planning to change my will completely, to leave you half of everything—half the properties, half my savings. You deserved it more than they did. But I ran out of time.
Be careful, Anna. Your parents are not good people. They care more about money than anything else, even family. Don’t let them destroy you. You’re stronger than they are.
Love always,
Grandpa
Tears streamed down my face as I read the letter. My grandfather had wanted to give me more. He’d been planning to change his will to make sure I was truly taken care of, but he died before he could do it.
“There’s something you should know,” Henry said gently. “The week before your grandfather died, your mother came to see me. She was asking questions about his will, about whether he’d made any recent changes. I didn’t tell her anything, of course—attorney–client privilege—but she was very persistent, very concerned about the estate.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“You think she knew he was planning to change the will?”
“I can’t say for certain, but the timing was suspicious. Your grandfather was in perfect health one week, and the next week he was dead. ‘Heart failure,’ they said. But he’d just had a physical exam, and his doctor told him he had the heart of a man twenty years younger.”
“What are you saying?”
Henry leaned back in his chair, choosing his words carefully.
“I’m saying that when someone stands to lose a significant inheritance, they might do things they wouldn’t otherwise do. I’m saying that your grandfather’s death was very convenient for your parents. And I’m saying that if you look closely at the circumstances, you might find some questions that were never properly answered.”
My mind was reeling.
Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? That my parents had something to do with my grandfather’s death?
“I have no proof,” Henry continued. “Just an old lawyer’s suspicions. But I thought you should know, especially now that you’ve gone up against them in court. They’ve shown you what they’re capable of when their money is threatened. Imagine what they might do if the stakes were even higher.”
I left Henry’s office in a daze, clutching the folder with the trust documents and my grandfather’s letter.
Sixty thousand dollars. It was enough to pay off the student loans I was still chipping away at. Enough to have a real emergency fund. Enough to finally breathe.
But all I could think about was Henry’s words.
Your grandfather’s death was very convenient for your parents.
I drove to the public library and spent the next three hours digging through old newspaper archives. I found my grandfather’s obituary, brief and respectful: died peacefully at home, surrounded by family.
But there was another article, smaller, from a week later. A letter to the editor from my grandfather’s longtime physician, Dr. Russell Hayes, expressing shock at the sudden death of a patient he’d just examined and declared healthy.
I found Dr. Hayes’s contact information and called his office. He’d retired five years ago, but the receptionist gave me his home number.
When I called, he answered on the third ring.
“Dr. Hayes, my name is Anna Thompson. I’m calling about my grandfather, James Thompson. You were his doctor.”
There was a pause.
“James Thompson. Yes, I remember him. A good man. His death was such a shock.”
“Can I ask you something? You wrote a letter to the newspaper saying you were surprised by his death. Why?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Are you asking as his granddaughter or in some other capacity?”
“I’m an attorney, and I have reason to believe there might have been something suspicious about his death.”
“Meet me at Elmwood Park in an hour,” Dr. Hayes said. “There’s something you need to know.”
Dr. Hayes was sitting on a bench near the pond when I arrived, feeding breadcrumbs to the ducks. He was in his eighties now, with stooped shoulders and liver-spotted hands, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I said, sitting beside him.
He didn’t look at me, just kept tossing breadcrumbs.
“I’ve carried this guilt for twelve years. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”
“What guilt?”
“Your grandfather came to see me two days before he died. He was concerned about some symptoms he’d been having. Nausea, dizziness, tingling in his extremities. I ran some tests, but the results wouldn’t be back for a week. I told him it was probably nothing, maybe a virus. I sent him home.”
“What were the test results?”
“They showed elevated levels of digoxin in his blood. Digoxin is a heart medication, but your grandfather wasn’t taking any heart medication. The levels were high enough to cause arrhythmia, heart failure. High enough to kill someone.”
My breath caught.
“You’re saying he was poisoned?”
“I’m saying that someone gave him digoxin, probably in his food or drink over several days. By the time the test results came back, he was already dead.”
“I went to the police, but they said there wasn’t enough evidence to open an investigation. The medical examiner ruled it natural causes, heart failure. They said the digoxin in his system could have been a false positive or residue from some other medication. Without an autopsy showing clear poisoning, they wouldn’t pursue it.”
“Why didn’t you push harder?”
Dr. Hayes finally looked at me, and I saw shame in his eyes.
“Your father came to see me. He said the family wanted to remember James peacefully, without the trauma of an investigation. He said it would destroy your grandmother to think someone had hurt him. And he offered me money—a lot of money—to let it go, to accept the medical examiner’s ruling and move on.”
“You took the money.”
“To my eternal shame, yes. I was three years from retirement, and my wife had just been diagnosed with cancer. We needed the money for her treatment. So I told myself it was probably nothing, that I was seeing conspiracies where there were none. I let them bury your grandfather without answers.”
I felt sick. My father had bribed Dr. Hayes to stay quiet about evidence of poisoning, which meant he knew exactly what had killed my grandfather. Which meant he’d either done it himself or helped cover it up.
“Dr. Hayes, would you be willing to testify to this? To put it in a sworn statement?”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes. I’m old now, and my wife passed away five years ago. I don’t need their blood money anymore, and I don’t want to die carrying this secret. If you’re going after them, I’ll help you.”
I got Dr. Hayes’s statement recorded and notarized that same afternoon. Then I went straight to the district attorney’s office.
The DA, a sharp woman named Catherine Morris, listened to everything I had to say. She looked at the documents, read Dr. Hayes’s statement, and leaned back in her chair.
“This is serious,” she said. “If what you’re saying is true, we’re looking at murder. But it’s been twelve years. Physical evidence will be long gone. We’d need more than just elevated digoxin levels and a doctor’s suspicions.”
“What about motive?” I asked. “My grandfather was about to change his will. My parents stood to lose millions if he did. Henry Bradford, his attorney, can testify that my mother was asking questions about the will right before he died.”
“That’s circumstantial. We need something concrete. Bank records showing they were in financial trouble. Proof they purchased digoxin. Witnesses who saw them administering it. Something.”
I left the DA’s office feeling frustrated. I had enough to raise suspicions, but not enough to prove anything. My parents had covered their tracks well.
But then I remembered something.
When I was younger, before everything fell apart, my mother kept meticulous records of everything. She had files for every receipt, every bill, every transaction. She was obsessed with documentation, with having proof of everything.
And if she was that obsessive twelve years ago…
I called Melissa. We hadn’t spoken since the courthouse, and I wasn’t sure she’d answer, but she did on the fourth ring.
“Anna,” she said quietly.
“I need your help with something.”
“I can’t. Mom and Dad are furious about the court case. They’ve forbidden me to talk to you.”
“Melissa, I think they killed Grandpa.”
Silence on the other end.
“What?”
I told her everything. The trust fund, Henry’s suspicions, Dr. Hayes’s statement about the digoxin poisoning. I told her about my grandfather’s plans to change his will, about my mother’s suspicious visit to Henry’s office, about the bribe to Dr. Hayes.
“That’s impossible,” Melissa said. But her voice wavered. “They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.”
“They put a child’s health at risk to save money on repairs,” I said. “They threw me out onto the street when I was 19. They sued me for emotional distress when I stood up to them. What makes you think they’re above murder?”
“But Grandpa… he was their father.”
“He was also worth two million dollars, and they were about to lose half of it.”
Melissa was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “What do you need from me?”
“Mom keeps records, right? Financial documents, receipts, everything. Does she still have files from twelve years ago?”
“Yes. She keeps everything in the storage room in the basement. It’s all organized by year.”
“I need you to look for anything from the months before Grandpa died. Bank statements, credit-card bills, pharmacy receipts—anything that might show they were in financial trouble or that they purchased digoxin.”
“Anna, I can’t just go through their private files.”
“Yes, you can. Because if I’m right, they murdered our grandfather for money, and they’ve spent the last twelve years living off that blood money while letting everyone think he died naturally. Don’t you want to know the truth?”
Another long silence. Then:
“I’ll look. But Anna… if I find something, if this is real, what happens to them?”
“They go to prison,” I said simply. “For the rest of their lives.”
“And what happens to me?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Because if my parents went to prison for murder, Melissa would be left alone. The golden child. The favorite. The one they’d spent their lives protecting and spoiling. She’d have nothing. No family, no support, no illusions left about who her parents really were.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “But the truth matters more than comfort.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Melissa said, and hung up.
I sat in my car outside the DA’s office, staring at my phone. I’d just asked my sister to betray our parents, to help me send them to prison. Part of me felt guilty about it, but a larger part felt nothing but cold determination.
Because if they’d really killed my grandfather, they deserved whatever happened to them.
The next 24 hours were the longest of my life. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on work. I kept imagining what Melissa might find. Kept playing out scenarios in my head.
What if there was proof? What if there wasn’t? What if Melissa changed her mind and told our parents what I was doing?
But the next evening, Melissa called.
“I found something,” she said, her voice shaking. “Anna, I found something bad.”
We met at a coffee shop on the edge of town, far from anywhere our parents might see us. Melissa looked terrible, pale and hollow-eyed, like she hadn’t slept either.
She sat across from me and slid a folder across the table with trembling hands.
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