PART 5
It was from an unknown number.
There was only one sentence.
You should ask your children what happened to the money Richard left before he died.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
Because they already know.
I sat down slowly.
For the first time since Richard’s death, I wondered whether the story I had believed about my family was never the whole story.
And somewhere in Denver, three of my children were preparing for Christmas.
They thought they had come to take back a house.
They had no idea that I had just discovered something that could change everything.
PART 4
I read the message again.
Because they already know.
My hands felt numb.
I stared at the phone until the screen went dark.
Then I turned it back on and read the message again.
Whoever had sent it knew about Richard’s money.
Not the money I had today.
The money he had left before he died.
I had spent years believing I understood every part of Richard’s estate.
He had left me the house.
He had left me his investments.
He had left me enough life insurance to make sure I would never struggle.
At least, that was what I thought.
I immediately called Thomas.
He answered on the first ring.
“I was expecting your call.”
“Someone just messaged me.”
“What did they say?”
I read it to him.
There was a long silence.
“Don’t reply.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Forward it to me.”
I did.
Then I asked the question that had suddenly become impossible to ignore.
“Thomas, what money did Richard leave before he died?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to determine.”
“You told me his estate was settled.”
“It was.”
“Then where could money have gone?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Thomas.”
“I need to be careful here.”
“Please.”
He sighed.
“When Richard died, there were several accounts and investment vehicles that were transferred to you. But there were also some assets that didn’t appear in the final probate inventory.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What assets?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You just said there were assets.”
“I said there may have been.”
“How could you not know?”
“Because Richard used a separate financial adviser for some of his private investments.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
I froze.
The name was familiar.
“Mercer Financial?”
“Yes.”
“I thought Richard stopped working with him years ago.”
“So did I.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then call him.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“He refused to discuss Richard’s accounts with me.”
“Why?”
“He said he was bound by confidentiality.”
I stood up.
“Thomas, I’m Richard’s widow.”
“I know.”
“Then I have a right to know.”
“That’s what we’re going to establish.”
I looked out the window.
The snow had stopped.
The sky was gray.
“How long?”
“For the audit?”
“Yes.”
“Several weeks.”
“I don’t have several weeks.”
“You do.”
“No.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“My children are involved.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Someone just told me they are.”
“Someone who may be trying to frighten you.”
“Then find out.”
Thomas was silent.
Finally he said:
“I’ll find out.”
That afternoon, I received another message.
This time there was a photograph attached.
It was an old photograph of Richard standing beside three people.
One was Daniel Mercer.
The other two were my children.
Jennifer.
Michael.
Lisa.
I stared at the picture.
I had never seen it before.
Underneath it was a message:
Ask them why they met with Richard’s adviser six months before he died.
My heart began racing.
Six months before Richard died.
The same time period mentioned in his letter.
I called Thomas again.
“I have a photograph.”
“Send it.”
I did.
Within minutes, he called back.
“I recognize the location.”
“Where?”
“Mercer’s old office.”
“Why would my children be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
That night I didn’t sleep.
At 4:17 in the morning, I finally got out of bed.
I walked into Richard’s old study.
I hadn’t entered that room properly in months.
His desk was still there.
His books.
His old leather chair.
A framed photograph of us from our tenth anniversary.
I sat down.
Then I remembered something.
Richard had always kept important documents in a small locked drawer.
After he died, Thomas had told me the drawer contained nothing important.
But I had never personally checked it.
I opened it.
Empty.
Except for a small brass key.
I stared at it.
I remembered that key.
It belonged to the safe in the basement.
I hadn’t opened that safe since Richard died.
I went downstairs.
The basement was cold.
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