Chapter 6 - Genevieve's Real Reason
I turned toward the hallway.
Serena Kelley stood in my doorway.
My husband's younger sister held a spare key.
Then she saw the photograph in my hand.
Her expression changed.
“Thomas warned you about me.”
Lily looked between us.
I sent her upstairs.
Only when her bedroom door closed did I speak.
“What are you doing here?”
Serena was seventy-two.
Elegant.
Silver-blonde hair.
A woman who had spent most of her adult life three states away and appeared at holidays with expensive gifts and very little personal information.
She looked at the photograph.
“Thomas wasn't warning you about me.”
“Your name is written on the back.”
“Read the exact words.”
I did.
THE ONE PERSON ELLIE MUST NEVER TRUST WITH BENJAMIN.
SERENA KNOWS WHO.
I had read it too quickly.
“You know who?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Marcus.”
“That isn't a revelation.”
“No.”
She pointed to Wesley in the photograph.
“The person behind Marcus.”
I frowned.
“Wesley?”
“No. Look at the reflection.”
Behind them was the black window of a parked car.
A face appeared in the glass.
Barely visible.
I couldn't identify it.
Serena could.
“Charles Reed.”
Our family attorney.
The man I had trusted for thirty-one years.
The man who handled Thomas's estate.
The man who had assured me every document was in order.
I sat down.
Serena explained.
Twenty years earlier, Charles had introduced Marcus to Thomas.
When their business relationship failed, Thomas suspected Charles had concealed conflicts of interest.
He never proved wrongdoing.
He simply severed their business connection.
But years later, after Thomas became ill, Charles returned as our ordinary estate attorney.
“Why would Thomas hire him again?”
“He didn't.”
I stared at her.
“You did.”
Memory hit me.
Charles had helped with a property question.
I liked him.
I suggested Thomas use him.
Thomas had reluctantly agreed for routine matters while keeping Wesley for private planning.
I had brought Charles back into our lives.
Serena reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Don't comfort me. Give me facts.”
She nodded.
Good.
She told me Thomas had discovered Charles communicating with Marcus shortly before his death.
He feared they might approach Benjamin later.
Thomas created the protective trust.
Wesley handled it privately.
“But why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Thomas thought you'd confront Benjamin, Benjamin would confront Marcus, and everything would explode while Thomas was dying.”
“So everyone protected poor Eleanor again.”
Serena looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“I am beginning to hate that word.”
“You should.”
The next morning, I called Charles.
No answer.
His office said he was traveling.
Wesley came over.
When I showed him the photograph, he didn't deny knowing about Charles.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“That's becoming another word I hate.”
He accepted the rebuke.
Then Genevieve arrived.
Her face was bare of makeup.
She wore jeans instead of the polished clothes I associated with her.
“I need to tell you something.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently my house had become a confession booth.
Genevieve sat.
“The dinner wasn't only about Marcus.”
Of course it wasn't.
She explained that Charles had contacted her two weeks earlier.
He told her Eleanor's estate plan was outdated.
He suggested the dinner as an opportunity to “resolve family matters.”
Marcus would present the business proposal.
Charles would bring estate paperwork.
“And you agreed?”
“At first.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought Benjamin deserved the house.”
There it was.
Ugly.
Honest.
She looked at me.
“I told myself it was for Lily. It wasn't. I wanted security.”
I said nothing.
“Then yesterday I saw the $400,000 guarantee. I realized they weren't trying to protect us. They were trying to use your assets to save the company.”
“So you canceled my invitation.”
“Yes.”
“Still cowardly.”
“Yes.”
“Still cruel.”
“Yes.”
“But you stopped the meeting.”
“Yes.”
It didn't erase what she had done.
But truth rarely arrives in neat categories.
Genevieve had helped create the problem.
Then she had tried, badly and cruelly, to stop its worst consequence.
“What happens to your marriage?” I asked.
She looked surprised.
“I don't know.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop managing him.”
Her eyes filled.
“I'm not sure I know how.”
“Learn.”
Benjamin arrived later.
They spoke privately in my garden.
No screaming.
No dramatic reconciliation.
Just two people discovering how much damage they had hidden from each other.
That afternoon, First National called.
Clara sounded tense.
“Eleanor, someone attempted to access your safe-deposit authorization.”
“Who?”
“They presented a power of attorney.”
My heart stopped.
“I never gave anyone power of attorney.”
“I know.”
“Whose name?”
“Charles Reed.”
Wesley stood immediately.
“Do not let him access anything.”
“We didn't.”
Clara lowered her voice.
“But Eleanor, the document carries what appears to be your signature.”
I gripped the phone.
“I never signed it.”
“There is a date.”
“When?”
She told me.
Three months after Thomas died.
I remembered that month.
Grief.
Paperwork.
Forms.
Charles had brought stacks of documents to my house.
“Send Wesley a copy.”
“I already did.”
Minutes later it arrived.
Wesley examined it.
The signature looked like mine.
Maybe it was.
But the page above it was unfamiliar.
I may have signed a signature page attached to something else.
Genevieve whispered, “They've been planning this for years.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I thought of the payments.
The little rescues.
The slow erosion of boundaries.
“Not planning. Waiting.”
That evening, Wesley filed an emergency challenge to the power of attorney.
The bank froze any disputed access.
Benjamin voluntarily surrendered his company records for review.
Genevieve handed over every email from Marcus and Charles.
For the first time, we were all doing the same thing.
Telling the truth.
At 9:14, Clara called again.
Her voice was barely controlled.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“The power of attorney wasn't the only document.”
“What else?”
“A deed.”
My hand tightened.
“To what?”
“Your house.”
I couldn't speak.
Clara continued.
“It was prepared three months after Thomas died.”
“Who owns my house?”
There was a long silence.
May you like
Then Clara said:
“According to this document, Eleanor... you don't.”
