Chapter 4 - Grant Had Asked About the House Before the Funeral
Martin did not knock.
He tapped once against the glass and held the folder up where we could see it.
Rebecca opened the door.
“Martin.”
“I need five minutes.”
His voice was low.
He stepped inside.
He looked older than I remembered.
Grant’s father’s brother had attended a few family events over the years but rarely stayed long.
Gray hair.
Thin glasses.
Expensive coat.
The kind of man who spoke carefully enough that you noticed every word.
His eyes found me.
“Natalie, I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Did my father ask you about Grant?”
Martin closed his eyes briefly.
“So Rebecca found the note.”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Martin glanced toward the staircase.
“Are the boys awake?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He placed the blue folder on the table.
“Your father called me eight months ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to know whether Grant had access to information concerning his policies.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more because there was no hesitation.
“How much access?”
“Enough to view account structures through our internal quoting system.”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Not customer files without authorization.”
“No.”
“But he had authorization.”
Martin looked at me.
“Your father had signed a broker-of-record inquiry six months earlier.”
“Because Grant offered to review premiums.”
“Yes.”
“Did that let Grant make changes?”
“Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
Martin sat down.
“It let him learn where the policies were held, approximate death benefits, renewal dates, beneficiary structures in some cases, and the existence of trusts connected to them.”
I stared.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Martin’s voice hardened.
“Because none of that is inherently improper.”
“Until?”
“Until your father called me.”
Rebecca asked:
“What prompted him?”
Martin opened the folder.
Inside were copies of emails.
Grant’s name sat at the top of one.
Subject: Mercer scenario modeling.
My hands went numb.
Martin continued.
“He asked one of our analysts for hypothetical estate liquidity figures.”
I looked at the email.
“What does that mean?”
“How much liquid money would become available if both insured adults died.”
Rebecca’s expression darkened.
“Why would Grant request that?”
“He said your father wanted estate planning projections.”
“Did Dad?”
“No.”
I looked up.
“How do you know?”
“Because I called him.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“What did he say?”
Martin’s eyes lowered.
“He had no idea what I was talking about.”
The living room became very quiet.
“What happened next?”
“I told Grant never to use client information outside approved requests.”
“And?”
“He apologized.”
“That was it?”
“I documented it.”
“Did you report him?”
“To compliance.”
My heart began pounding.
“What happened?”
“Internal review.”
“And?”
“No client funds had moved. No policy changes could be proven to originate from him. He received a formal warning.”
I laughed bitterly.
“A warning.”
“At the time, Natalie, that was the evidence.”
Rebecca asked:
“And the beneficiary amendment?”
Martin looked at her.
“What amendment?”
We showed him.
His reaction was immediate.
He reached for the page.
“Where did you get this?”
“Insurer records.”
“This trust name is wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
He pulled out his phone.
“The Mercer Family Preservation Trust existed only as a draft concept.”
Rebecca stared.
“What?”
“Your father asked me about creating something under that name after he became concerned about Grant.”
My chest tightened.
“So it exists?”
“Not legally.”
“Then how is it a beneficiary?”
“It shouldn’t be.”
Rebecca stood.
“Martin, who had the draft information?”
“Your father. Me. Our trust consultant.”
“And Grant?”
Martin’s face changed.
“He may have seen the title in the scenario file.”
I felt sick.
“What happens if money is payable to a trust that doesn’t legally exist?”
“It gets delayed. Potentially redirected through probate, depending on carrier rules.”
“Could someone later present trust documents?”
“Yes.”
“Fake ones?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
I sat.
I remembered Grant’s urgency.
Sell the house.
Move the boys.
Start our life.
Maybe it had only been greed.
Suddenly greed felt almost comforting compared to the alternative.
“Was Grant planning to steal from us?”
Martin did not answer.
Rebecca did.
“We don’t know.”
I looked at Martin.
“Then why are you here tonight?”
He tapped the folder.
“Because Grant called me twenty minutes ago.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether the acknowledgment he signed tonight could affect any future property claim after marriage.”
Rebecca and I exchanged a look.
“So he knew what he signed.”
“No. He called after leaving.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That he needed his own attorney.”
“Then?”
“He asked me something else.”
Martin looked genuinely ashamed.
“What?”
“He asked whether your father’s concerns about the insurance records had ever been written down.”
Silence.
Rebecca said:
“That isn’t a question an innocent person asks.”
“I know.”
I looked down.
My engagement ring was still in my fist.
I opened my hand.
The diamond left a small red indentation in my palm.
“What should I do?”
Rebecca answered immediately.
“Do not confront him.”
Martin nodded.
“Change your passwords.”
“Bank?”
“All of them.”
“Can Grant access my accounts?”
“Assume he might know personal information.”
My phone.
Email.
Social Security number?
He had helped me fill out apartment applications.
Wedding financing.
Tax documents.
The thought made my skin crawl.
Then Noah appeared halfway down the stairs.
I stood instantly.
“Hey.”
He looked at Martin.
“Who’s that?”
“A friend.”
Noah nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Wyatt can’t sleep.”
“I’m coming.”
I started toward him.
“Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“Did Grant ever ask you questions about Mom and Dad’s papers?”
Rebecca and Martin both looked at me.
Noah thought.
“He asked Dad.”
“When?”
“At the table.”
“What did he ask?”
“I dunno.”
“Try.”
Noah twisted the airplane in his hands.
“Dad got mad.”
My pulse changed.
“What did Dad say?”
Noah’s small face tightened as he tried to remember.
“He said, ‘Stop asking what happens if we die.’”
Nobody breathed.
“When was this?”
Noah shrugged.
“Before Christmas?”
Six months.
Maybe more.
I climbed one stair.
“Did Dad say anything else?”
Noah nodded.
“He told Grant not to go in his office.”
I stared at him.
Martin stood behind me.
Rebecca whispered:
“Natalie.”
I turned.
Martin had removed another document from his folder.
A security-access audit.
One line was highlighted.
My parents’ insurance records had been accessed at 11:48 p.m. two nights before the accident.
May you like
The employee login belonged to Grant Holloway.
And according to the office schedule attached beneath it, Grant had told his employer he was home sick that entire day.
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