Chapter 4: The Witness Vanessa Never Mentioned
I read Eleanor Price’s message until the words stopped looking like words.
The other witness was Vanessa’s own daughter.
Vanessa had a daughter?
I knew she had been married before my father. I knew she had a sister in Savannah, a collection of expensive handbags she never used twice, and a habit of referring to certain people as “unfortunate connections.”” But in six years of living under the same roof, she had never mentioned having a child.
Not once.
I typed a reply.
What is her name?
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then returned.
Danielle Brooks. She is twenty-nine. Your father asked me not to contact her unless the circumstances surrounding his estate required it.
I sat down on the edge of the leather sofa.
Why would my father need her to witness his will?
Eleanor's answer took longer.
Because he trusted her to tell the truth, even when the truth would hurt her mother.
I looked toward the open study door.
Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
Vanessa was still in the house.
I typed another message.
Can I speak to you in person?
Tomorrow morning. My office in Atlanta. Bring nothing from the desk without your attorney's approval. And please, Nia, don't tell Vanessa you've contacted me.
I agreed.
Then I slipped my phone into my handbag and took the notebook to the guest room where I had left my overnight bag. I photographed the pages I'd already read, recorded where I'd found the notebook, and sent Mr. Coleman a message explaining that I had discovered potentially relevant entries. I did not mention Danielle.
That evening, Vanessa served herself a glass of wine in the kitchen while I stood at the counter making tea.
She wore a cream silk blouse now, as though changing out of mourning clothes could change the course of the day.
“You're still here,” she said.
“I'm leaving tomorrow.””
“Good.””
She lifted her wineglass and examined the liquid.
“I spoke to my attorney. He thinks the new will is suspicious.””
“Does he?””
“He says the timing is questionable, and the fact that the document was hidden in a drawer makes it look as though someone wanted to spring a surprise.””
“Maybe someone wanted to keep it safe.””
Vanessa set down her glass.
“You've become very confident since you found that folder.””
“I'm trying to understand what Dad wanted.””
“Your father wanted many things. Sometimes he wanted things that contradicted each other.””
“Then why are you so certain about the old will?””
“Because I was there when he signed it.””
I stopped stirring my tea.
“You witnessed it?””
“I was his wife. Of course I was present.””
“Who else was there?””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Why are you asking me that?””
“Because Mr. Coleman will need to verify the witnesses.””
She gave a dismissive wave.
“His business attorney handled everything. People signed. Documents were filed. It's all perfectly ordinary.””
“Who was the other witness?””
For the first time, she didn't answer immediately.
Then she picked up her glass.
“I don't remember.””
“You don't remember who was in the room when your husband signed his will?””
“I remember being exhausted. Your father had been difficult that week. I wasn't memorizing the names of everyone who walked through the door.””
She took a sip.
I watched her over the rim of my mug.
“Did you ever meet a woman named Eleanor Price?””
The glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
It was a tiny movement, barely a second long.
But I saw it.
“Why?””
“She contacted me.””
Vanessa lowered the glass so carefully that it made no sound against the counter.
“What did she tell you?””
“Nothing I can't discuss with my attorney.””
The color rose in Vanessa's cheeks.
“You have no idea what you're doing.””
“Then explain it to me.””
She pushed away from the counter and walked to the sink. There, she turned on the faucet and began washing a wineglass that was already clean.
“Eleanor Price was a disgruntled attorney who lost your father's business years ago,” she said.
“She was bitter, unprofessional, and desperate to remain relevant. If she's contacting you now, she wants something.””
“Maybe she wants the truth.””
Vanessa turned off the water.
“Truth is a luxury people talk about when they have nothing to lose.””
She dried her hands with a towel, folded it neatly, and looked at me.
“You still have time to walk away from this, Nia. Take your personal belongings, let the attorneys sort out the paperwork, and don't turn your father's death into a public spectacle.””
“You're the one who tried to evict me before his funeral flowers had wilted.””
“I offered you a deadline.””
“You took his keys.””
“They were mine.””
“You presented a will that may have been revoked.””
“May have been.”” Her voice sharpened.
“That's the important word, isn't it? May have been. You have a folder, a few notes, and a woman from the past sending you mysterious messages. None of that proves anything.””
She reached into her handbag and removed a folded sheet of paper.
“I've also had the courtesy to prepare this.””
She placed it on the counter.
It was a written agreement offering me a modest cash payment in exchange for releasing any potential claim to the estate.
The amount was generous by ordinary standards.
It was insulting by my father's standards.
“You want me to sign away my inheritance?””
“I want you to have something certain rather than chase something uncertain.””
“How long have you had this?””
“Since yesterday.””
I looked at the date printed at the top.
The agreement had been drafted before my father was buried.
Vanessa watched me notice it.
“He was ill,” she said quickly.
“We had to plan for every possibility.””
“Did you plan for the possibility that he might leave everything to me?””
Her lips tightened.
“Sign it by Monday. Otherwise, the offer disappears.””
She picked up her wine and walked out of the kitchen.
I stood alone beside the sink, staring at the document.
At the bottom, in small print, was a paragraph requiring me to keep the agreement and its terms confidential.
Vanessa wasn't simply trying to secure the estate.
She was trying to silence me before I understood what had happened.
The next morning, I drove into Atlanta beneath a sky the color of old pewter.
Eleanor Price's office occupied the second floor of a narrow brick building near a busy intersection. The reception area smelled of coffee and paper. There were no marble floors or extravagant decorations, just shelves of legal books and framed photographs of people standing beside courthouse steps.
Eleanor met me at the door.
She was in her early sixties, with silver-streaked hair and sharp, observant eyes. She wore a navy suit and carried a yellow legal pad.
“Nia Reed?””
“Yes.””
She studied my face for a moment.
“You have your father's eyes.””
I felt an unexpected ache in my throat.
“Everyone says that.””
“He used to get annoyed when people said it. Claimed his eyes were too tired to belong to someone your age.””
A small smile escaped me.
Eleanor led me into her office and closed the door.
“Before we discuss anything, I want you to understand that I am not replacing your current attorney. Mr. Coleman should handle the estate's legal administration. I can explain what I personally know and provide records that are lawfully available.””
“I understand.””
She placed a file on the desk.
“Your father came to me eleven months before his death. He was concerned about changes in his financial affairs and wanted to review his estate plan.””
“What changes?””
“Several transactions he did not remember authorizing. He suspected that someone with access to his business records had used his trust to make decisions he hadn't approved.””
“Vanessa?””
“I won't speculate beyond what I can document.””
Eleanor opened the file and showed me a copy of an appointment record.
“Your father signed a new will in my office five months before he died. He was alert, composed, and understood exactly what he was signing. I explained the consequences to him, including the possibility that his wife might challenge the document.””
“Why didn't he tell me?””
“He said he wanted to protect you from being drawn into a dispute until he had secured the supporting records.””
I remembered the late-night phone call.
Never let anyone make you feel like a guest in your own family.
My father had known.
Perhaps not everything, but enough to prepare.
“Who witnessed the will?”” I asked.
Eleanor looked at me.
“Danielle Brooks and my former paralegal, Samuel Grant.””
“Vanessa's daughter.””
“Yes.””
“Why would Danielle agree to that?””
“Because she had already discovered something troubling about her mother's financial activities. Your father believed Danielle was trying to make things right.””
I leaned forward.
“What did she discover?””
Eleanor closed the file.
“That is something Danielle needs to tell you herself. I have no right to disclose her private communications beyond what is necessary to authenticate the will.””
“Can you contact her?””
“I can give you the number she provided for this purpose.””
She slid a small card across the desk.
Before I could pick it up, Eleanor's office phone rang.
She glanced at the display and answered.
“Eleanor Price speaking.””
A pause.
Her expression changed.
“Yes, I understand.””
Another pause.
“No. I have not provided anything to the press.””
She listened for several seconds, then ended the call.
I watched her place the receiver back into its cradle.
“What happened?””
“Someone has contacted my office asking whether I prepared a will for Daniel Reed.””
“Who?””
“They wouldn't identify themselves.””
My stomach tightened.
“Could it have been Vanessa?””
“Possibly. But the caller knew the execution date, the names of the witnesses, and the location where the will was signed.””
I stared at the card.
Danielle's name was printed in plain black letters.
Eleanor pushed the file toward me.
“Call her somewhere private. Don't pressure her. And tell Mr. Coleman that the original will was executed in my office, not merely found in your father's desk.””
I stood, slipping the card into my handbag.
“Eleanor, is there anything else I should know?””
She hesitated.
“Yes.””
She opened a second drawer and removed a sealed envelope bearing my father's handwriting.
“This was left with me shortly before he died. He instructed me to give it to you only if the estate came into dispute.””
My fingers trembled as I accepted it.
Across the front, he had written my name.
Nia.
Nothing more.
I turned the envelope over. The seal was intact.
“Did he tell you what was inside?””
“No. He said that if you ever received it, you would already know why he had kept it.””
I slipped it into my bag without opening it.
As I walked toward the door, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
Stop asking about Danielle.
A second message followed.
Your father is dead. Don't destroy what's left of this family.
I looked back at Eleanor.
She had seen my expression.
“What is it?””
I showed her the screen.
She read both messages, then reached for her desk phone.
“Call Mr. Coleman,” she said.
“And don't respond.””
I looked at the threatening words.
For the first time, I wasn't simply afraid of losing my inheritance.
I was afraid that someone knew exactly how close I was to discovering why my father had changed his will.
May you like
And whoever it was had just made one thing clear.
They were watching me.