Chapter 6 - The Nephew Who Knocked Next
Russell came that afternoon.
Of course he did.
Greedy people rarely give grief time to cool.
He arrived in a black SUV with Marlene beside him, both dressed as if they had come from church rather than strategy. I watched from the window as they approached my apartment, Russell carrying a folder, Marlene wearing an expression of rehearsed concern.
Mr. Whitmore was still there.
He had expected them.
When I opened the door, Russell gave me a sad smile.
“Nancy. We need to talk about what happened.”
“What happened,” I said, “is that my husband was buried yesterday.”
His smile tightened at the word husband.
“Exactly. Emotions are high. No one blames you for getting caught up in Thomas’s final days.”
Marlene stepped forward.
“We just want to make sure everything is handled properly. The family is worried.”
“The family,” Mr. Whitmore said from behind me, “should have called my office.”
Russell’s face changed.
He had not expected the lawyer in my living room.
“Whitmore.”
“Russell.”
The two men looked at each other with the exhausted familiarity of people who had argued before I ever entered the story.
Russell recovered quickly. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll be challenging the marriage, obviously. Thomas was vulnerable. Mrs. Miller was his nurse. There are serious concerns about undue influence.”
“Nancy Whitaker,” I said.
Russell blinked.
“What?”
“My name is Nancy Whitaker.”
Marlene’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
Mr. Whitmore opened his briefcase and removed a folder.
“Before you make another accusation, I suggest you review your uncle’s competency statements, the estate plan dated two years prior to the marriage, and the preserved communications involving you and your wife.”
Russell went still.
Marlene’s eyes flicked toward him.
“What communications?” she asked.
That was when I realized she did not know all of it.
Russell had not only lied to Thomas.
He had lied to her too.
Whitmore held out the folder but did not release it.
“Thomas left instructions. If you accuse Mrs. Whitaker publicly, this packet goes to the probate court, the scholarship board, and the district attorney’s office.”
Russell’s face lost color.
“You wouldn’t.”
Mr. Whitmore’s voice stayed mild.
“Thomas was counting on you saying that.”
For the first time since the funeral, I almost smiled.
May you like
Not because any of this was funny.
Because Thomas had known him perfectly.
