I almost didn’t go.
Harold told me I didn’t have to. But I wanted to look Christopher in the eye one time.
I wore the navy dress. Not Gertrude’s. Mine. I bought it at Macy’s the day after the memorial because it was the same color as hers.
I got there first. Harold’s office smells like old leather and pipe tobacco, even though he quit smoking in 1991.
Christopher walked in at ten after two. He was still tan. He looked like he hadn’t slept in three days.
He stopped when he saw me.
“Ros,” he said.
I didn’t say anything.
He sat down in the chair across from me. Harold’s big oak desk between us.
“I should have been there,” Christopher said. “I know that.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“I called you thirty times, Christopher.”
He looked at the floor.
“I thought you were overreacting,” he said quietly.
“You were in the Turks and Caicos,” I said. “With Brielle.”
His head snapped up. His face went white under the tan.
“How do you know her name?”
“Your mother told me,” I said.
Harold cleared his throat. He opened a blue folder.
And he read Gertrude’s will out loud. Every word.
When he got to the part about the cottage and the savings going to me, Christopher stood up.
“That’s insane. She was confused. She had dementia. That will isn’t valid.”
Harold didn’t even look up. He slid three letters across the desk.
“Her primary care physician. Her neurologist. And a board-certified psychiatrist,” Harold said. “All three examined her in the week before she signed this will. All three confirm full testamentary capacity. Your mother insisted on it. She said, and I quote, ‘Christopher’s going to say I was confused.'”
Christopher stared at the letters.
Then Harold slid the second envelope across the desk. The thick one. With the bank statements and the receipts.
“And your mother asked me to give you this,” Harold said. “It’s a complete accounting of eighty-six thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars that left her accounts under your power of attorney between March of 2023 and February of this year.”
Christopher didn’t touch the envelope.
He didn’t have to. He knew exactly what was in it.
He sat back down. Slowly.
“She knew,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“She knew,” I said.
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
Sophia holds a degree in Journalism from the University of Toronto, where she developed her skills in news reporting, media ethics, and digital journalism. Her expertise lies in identifying key stories, crafting compelling narratives, and ensuring journalistic integrity in every piece she edits.
Known for her precision and dedication to the truth, Sophia thrives in the fast-paced world of news editing. At TheArchivists, she focuses on producing high-quality news content that keeps readers informed while maintaining a balanced and insightful perspective.
With a commitment to delivering impactful journalism, Sophia is passionate about bringing clarity to complex issues and amplifying voices that matter. Her work reflects her belief in the power of news to shape conversations and inspire change.