Chapter 2 - The Attorney's Revelation
The voice on the other end of the line was deep, measured, and formal.
"This is Samuel Hale," the man said. "I was Mr. Christopher's personal attorney."
He paused, letting the heavy gravity of Arthur’s name settle over the line. Then, his tone shifted into something far more intense and guarded. "Before I explain what’s going on, Helena, there's something I need to ask you."
My hands began to shake, the phone nearly slipping from my grasp.
“Helena,” Samuel said carefully, choosing his words with agonizing precision, “did Christopher ever tell you why he kept asking about Lucas over all those years?”
I gripped the edge of my kitchen counter, staring out the dingy window at the apartment parking lot. “He cared about him,” I whispered defensively. “He was a good man. That’s all.”
A heavy silence followed on the line.
“No, Helena,” Samuel said softly. “It wasn't all.”
The next morning, I found myself sitting across from Samuel in a high-rise downtown law office, wearing the only black dress I owned—the same one I had worn to Arthur's funeral. Between us rested a thick, dark leather folder stamped with the seal of Christopher & Associates.
Samuel opened the folder with a solemn click. “Christopher changed his will six months before his death,” he began, sliding a document toward me.
My stomach tightened into a painful knot. “He changed it? Why?”
“He knew Justin would dismiss you the moment the estate transferred to his name,” Samuel explained. “In fact, he expected it with absolute certainty.”
I stared at him in sheer disbelief. “He knew his own son would throw me out like trash?”
“Justin is a selfish man, and Arthur understood his character better than anyone,” Samuel replied, turning the page to reveal Arthur’s familiar, elegant signature at the bottom. “That is why the mansion, its surrounding twelve acres, and a primary corporate trust containing nearly two million dollars were not left entirely to Justin. A substantial portion of the estate was placed into a separate, unassailable trust. Specifically designated for Lucas.”
I pushed the papers away from me as if they were cursed. “No. There must be some mistake. I am just a maid. Lucas is just a boy from down the hall. Why would Arthur leave anything to my grandson?”
Samuel leaned forward, studying my face for several long, agonizing seconds. “That is precisely the question Christopher instructed me to answer only after Justin fired you.”
He reached into the folder and pulled out a sealed, heavy-stock envelope. My full name was written across the front in Arthur’s unmistakable handwriting. With trembling fingers, I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. There was only one sentence written inside:
Helena, forgive me for waiting eighteen years to tell you the truth about your daughter.
The room seemed to tilt violently. The walls blurred, and the sound of downtown traffic outside the window faded into a rushing roar in my ears. I looked up sharply, my chest heaving for air.
“What does that mean?!” I demanded, my voice cracking with panic.
Instead of answering verbally, Samuel opened a secondary file and placed an old, polaroid photograph flat on the desk.
My breath caught in my throat.
The photo showed Arthur standing outdoors in a sunlit garden beside a young woman. Emily. My daughter. She looked barely twenty years old, her hair blowing softly in the wind, holding a tiny, swaddled newborn baby close to her chest. Lucas.
It was a family portrait. But it was the man standing directly behind them, smiling warmly with his hand resting on Emily’s shoulder, that made my blood run instantly cold.
May you like
Justin.
On the back of the photograph, in Arthur’s handwriting, was a date—and four chilling words: Justin must never know.
