Chapter 10 - The Cancún Deed
I flew to Cancún with Samuel the next morning.
Daniel wanted to come.
I told him to stay with his children.
Casa Esperanza stood exactly as Robert and I had left it.
White stone.
Blue water.
Palm trees.
But the front lock had been damaged.
Inside, drawers had been opened.
Documents scattered.
Nothing valuable seemed missing.
Then I found Patricia's scarf.
Samuel called Mexican authorities.
Security footage showed Patricia entering with a man.
Thomas.
Of course.
Thomas had been playing both sides.
Again.
Investigators located him within hours.
Patricia had already returned to Houston.
Thomas admitted why they'd entered.
They wanted the original ownership records.
“Why?”
Because Blue Palm had once attempted to place a lien against Casa Esperanza using forged collateral documents.
Robert discovered it.
Stopped it.
And kept the originals.
Patricia needed them destroyed.
But she had searched the wrong place.
The originals were in C-17.
Robert had known.
The Cancún trip became something else for me.
I stood on the terrace at sunset.
For months, grief had been surrounded by conflict.
Here, for the first time, I simply missed my husband.
No Patricia.
No fraud.
No documents.
Just Robert.
I remembered him burning fish on the grill.
Dancing barefoot with me after too much wine.
Complaining about sand in the house.
I cried.
Then I laughed.
Sometimes grief contains both.
Samuel joined me.
“Robert wanted you to live here.”
“I know.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe.”
But Houston still held my grandchildren.
And unfinished business.
When I returned, Patricia requested a meeting.
Her attorney attended.
So did Samuel.
Patricia offered a settlement.
She would plead to certain financial charges.
Return assets.
Waive claims against the Hale trust.
In exchange, I would provide a statement asking for leniency.
“Why me?”
“Because the court will listen to you.”
I looked at her.
“Are you sorry?”
Her attorney shifted.
Patricia said, “I regret how things happened.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She looked away.
I stood.
“Then we're finished.”
“Wait.”
I turned.
Patricia's eyes filled.
“I hated you.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because you had everything.”
“No, I didn't.”
“You had Robert. Money. Respect. Daniel adored you.”
“Daniel loved you.”
“Not the way he loved you.”
There it was.
Jealousy.
Small enough to sound ridiculous.
Powerful enough to poison years.
“You could have built your own life,” I said.
“I tried.”
“No. You tried to take pieces of mine.”
She cried.
I didn't enjoy it.
“I slept beside a dog because you wanted me to feel worthless.”
“I know.”
“You humiliated me in front of strangers.”
“I know.”
“You forged my signature.”
“Yes.”
“Then if you want me to speak for you, give me one reason.”
She whispered, “Sophie and Liam.”
The weapon again.
Except this time it wasn't entirely manipulation.
She loved them.
Imperfectly.
Possessively.
But she loved them.
“I won't ask for punishment,” I said. “And I won't ask for leniency. I'll tell the truth.”
Patricia nodded.
It was the most I could offer.
That evening Sophie showed me a school assignment.
Family tree.
She had drawn Robert.
Me.
Daniel.
Patricia.
Liam.
No one erased.
I touched Patricia's name.
“Are you angry I put her?”
“No.”
“She did bad things.”
“Yes.”
“But she's still my mom.”
“Yes.”
Sophie hugged me.
Maybe children understand complexity better than adults.
The next morning Samuel arrived unexpectedly.
He carried the original Cancún deed.
And another document.
“Robert attached this to the property file.”
“What is it?”
“A transfer authorization.”
“To whom?”
He placed it in front of me.
Robert had planned to transfer half of Casa Esperanza.
The recipient line contained a name.
Not Daniel.
Not Sophie.
Not Liam.
Rebecca Sloan.
I stared at Samuel.
“Why would my husband give Rebecca half our house?”
Samuel looked equally disturbed.
Then we noticed the date.
It was signed three days before Robert died.
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And beneath Robert's signature was a handwritten note:
ELLIE MUST NEVER KNOW WHY.
