Chapter 2: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
Dad asked me to wait in the kitchen.
I didn't want to.
After everything that had happened, leaving him alone with Vanessa felt dangerous.
But he placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Five minutes, Ethan. I promise.””
I nodded.
The kitchen smelled of the chicken casserole Vanessa had prepared that morning. A half-empty glass of orange juice stood beside the sink. The ordinary details made the whole situation feel even stranger.
I sat at the breakfast bar.
Through the doorway, I could hear their voices.
At first, they were quiet.
Then Vanessa spoke.
“You're humiliating me.””
Dad answered.
“You forged my signature.””
“I made an administrative mistake.””
“You attempted to access my son's trust.””
“I was trying to protect our household.””
“From what?””
“From him!””
Silence followed.
Then Dad asked a question that made my stomach tighten.
“What exactly happened in the study yesterday?””
Vanessa didn't answer immediately.
I heard footsteps.
Then the unmistakable sound of a drawer being opened.
“Marcus, there is something you need to understand about your son.””
Dad interrupted.
“I'm listening.””
“He has been going through your mother's belongings.””
I sat upright.
“What?”” Dad asked.
“He's been looking through the boxes in the study. I found him doing it.””
“That isn't illegal.””
“He took documents.””
“What documents?””
“I don't know. That's the problem.””
My fingers curled around the edge of the counter.
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
The previous afternoon, I had gone into Dad's study to find a photograph of Mom.
It was supposed to be for a school project about family history.
I had opened the bottom cabinet, where Dad kept her old notebooks, photographs, and personal files.
That's when I saw Vanessa.
She was standing beside his desk with a small black folder.
She hadn't noticed me at first.
She was photographing several pages with her phone.
One document had a solicitor's letterhead.
Another contained Mom's signature.
And the third had a date from six months before she died.
When Vanessa turned around, she nearly dropped her phone.
“What are you doing here?”” she'd demanded.
“Looking for Mom's photographs.””
“Those boxes aren't yours.””
“They're her things.””
“They belong to your father now.””
I remembered how she had stepped between me and the desk.
Then she had smiled.
That same small, controlled smile.
“Forget what you saw, Ethan.””
I hadn't.
Now, in the kitchen, I heard her telling Dad a different story.
“He was looking through confidential financial documents,” she said.
“When I confronted him, he became aggressive.””
Dad's voice hardened.
“Did he touch you?””
“No.””
“Did he threaten you?””
“He didn't have to.””
I stood up.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I walked into the living room.
“That's not true.””
Both of them turned.
Dad looked tired.
“Ethan—”
“She was taking pictures of Mom's papers.””
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Here we go.””
I faced Dad.
“I saw her with a black folder. She was photographing documents on your desk. When she saw me, she told me to forget what I'd seen.””
Dad looked at his wife.
“Is that true?””
Vanessa rubbed her forehead.
“I was organizing your files.””
“Then why didn't you say so?””
“Because I didn't want to upset him.””
I shook my head.
“You told me I had no right to look at my own mother's things.””
“Because you were interfering.””
Dad turned toward the study.
“Where's the folder?””
Vanessa didn't move.
“Which folder?””
“The black one.””
“I put it away.””
“Where?””
“In the filing cabinet.””
Dad walked into the study.
We followed.
The room was dark except for the desk lamp. Bookshelves covered two walls. A framed photograph of Mom stood beside the computer.
She was laughing in the picture.
Her hair was blowing across her face, and she was holding a paper cup of coffee.
I remembered that day.
We had gone to the coast.
I was fourteen.
Dad had taken the photograph just before Mom ran toward the water and told us both to stop being boring.
For a moment, I forgot everything else.
Then Dad opened the filing cabinet.
The black folder wasn't there.
He checked the top drawer.
The bottom drawer.
Then the locked compartment.
Nothing.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
“I told you. I put it away.””
“Where?””
“I don't remember.””
Dad turned.
“You photographed confidential documents, moved the folder, and now you can't remember where you put it?””
“I have a lot to manage in this house.””
He stared at her.
“Apparently.””
I moved toward the desk.
There was a small rectangular space in the dust where something had recently been removed.
A picture frame had been shifted.
And beneath the edge of a desk calendar, I noticed a folded piece of paper.
“Dad.””
He came over.
I pulled it out.
It was a solicitor's letter.
The date was from three years earlier.
Six months before Mom died.
Dad took it from me.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he sat down.
“What's wrong?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
Vanessa moved closer.
“Marcus, give me that.””
He pulled the letter away.
“No.””
She stopped.
Dad read it again.
Then he looked at me.
“Ethan, did you know your mother had changed her will?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
He looked back at the paper.
“Apparently, she did.””
Vanessa's face had become almost expressionless.
Dad continued reading.
The letter referenced a family solicitor named Margaret Ellis.
It also mentioned a sealed supplementary document.
A document that had been deposited with the solicitor and was not to be opened until a specific condition was met.
“What condition?”” I asked.
Dad scanned the paragraph.
“Your eighteenth birthday.””
I looked at him.
“My birthday?””
He nodded slowly.
The words seemed to hang between us.
My eighteenth birthday was five months away.
Why would Mom have arranged something to be opened then?
And why had Vanessa been hiding it?
Dad reached for his phone.
“I need to speak to Margaret.””
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
“That's unnecessary.””
He looked at her.
“Why?””
“She retired.””
“Then I'll find her.””
“Marcus, this is old paperwork. Your wife made these arrangements while she was ill. She was taking medication. She wasn't thinking clearly.””
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“Don't use her illness to dismiss her decisions.””
Vanessa pressed her lips together.
“I was there during those months. I know what she was like.””
I felt a sudden rush of anger.
“You weren't there.””
She looked at me.
“What?””
“You didn't know Mom.””
Dad turned toward me.
I continued.
“You met her twice. Once at the hospital and once at the funeral. You didn't know what she wanted.
You didn't know what made her laugh. You didn't even know she hated lilies.””
Vanessa's face tightened.
“Your father and I have a life together now.””
“Then stop trying to erase hers.””
The room went silent.
Dad looked at the photograph on his desk.
Then he picked up the letter.
“I'm calling the solicitor.””
He dialed the number printed at the bottom.
It rang several times.
A woman answered.
“Ellis and Carter Solicitors.””
“Hello. My name is Marcus Walker. I'm trying to reach Margaret Ellis. She handled my late wife's estate.””
There was a pause.
“May I ask your wife's name?””
“Rebecca Walker.””
Another pause.
Then the receptionist's voice became more careful.
“Mr. Walker, please hold.””
The music that followed was soft and irritatingly cheerful.
Dad paced beside the desk.
I stood near the bookshelf.
Vanessa remained by the doorway.
After nearly two minutes, the receptionist returned.
“Mr. Walker, Ms. Ellis is no longer taking routine appointments. However, she left instructions regarding Rebecca Walker's estate.””
Dad stopped walking.
“What instructions?””
“She requested that if you contacted the office before your son's eighteenth birthday, we should confirm whether the original documents remained in storage.””
Dad gripped the phone.
“And?””
“They do.””
“Can I collect them?””
“Not without an appointment.””
“Then arrange one.””
“There's another matter, sir.””
Dad looked toward the phone.
“What matter?””
“The instructions state that Ethan Walker must attend the appointment personally.””
I felt my heart beating faster.
Dad glanced at me.
“Why?””
The receptionist hesitated.
“I wasn't given permission to discuss the contents.””
Dad looked at Vanessa.
“Fine. Book it.””
“Would Monday morning be suitable?””
“Yes.””
“Very well. I'll send confirmation.””
The call ended.
Vanessa let out a long breath.
“This is absurd.””
Dad placed his phone on the desk.
“What's absurd?””
“Dragging a child into legal matters.””
I looked at her.
“You were the one who put my name on the application.””
She ignored me.
Dad picked up the solicitor's letter again.
“Did Rebecca tell you about this?””
Vanessa looked away.
“Not really.””
“Not really?””
“She mentioned some paperwork.””
“What paperwork?””
“I don't remember.””
Dad stared at her.
“Vanessa, I need you to stop saying you don't remember.””
She raised her voice.
“I was trying to help you! Your wife left a complicated estate, a grieving child, and a house full of memories. I stepped in because somebody had to.””
Dad's expression became cold.
“You stepped in because I was struggling. I trusted you.””
“And I gave up everything to be here.””
“You married me. You didn't inherit permission to make decisions for my son.””
Her mouth opened.
But no words came.
Dad looked toward the hallway.
“Ethan, go upstairs. Pack your school things for tomorrow.””
“Why?””
“Because we're seeing the solicitor.””
I nodded.
As I reached the doorway, Vanessa spoke.
“Marcus, you can't possibly believe Rebecca would have wanted this.””
Dad didn't turn around.
“I don't know what Rebecca wanted. That's why I'm going to find out.””
I went upstairs.
My bedroom was exactly as I had left it that morning.
The curtains were half-open.
My schoolbooks lay scattered across the desk.
A photograph of Mom sat beside my alarm clock.
I picked it up.
She was holding me when I was little.
I must have been four or five.
Her cheek was pressed against mine, and both of us were smiling.
I sat on the bed.
For three years, I had tried to make Dad happy.
I stopped talking about Mom because Vanessa said it made him sad.
I stopped asking about family holidays because she said we needed new traditions.
I even let her rearrange the living room and put Mom's favorite chair in storage.
I thought I was helping.
Now I wondered whether I'd been helping someone erase the only person who had ever made our house feel completely safe.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
*Ethan, this is Daniel. Your father told me what happened. Are you safe?*
I typed back.
*I'm okay. We're going to see a solicitor on Monday.*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, a message arrived.
*Don't sign anything. And don't let Vanessa speak to you alone.*
I frowned.
Why would Uncle Daniel say that?
I typed:
*Why?*
His reply came almost immediately.
*Because your mother asked me to protect you if something like this ever happened.*
I stared at the screen.
Before I could answer, another message appeared.
*There's something your father doesn't know about Vanessa.*
Then my uncle called.
I answered.
“Daniel?””
His voice sounded strained.
“Ethan, listen carefully. I need to ask you something.””
“What?””
“Did Vanessa ever tell you that she knew your mother before she died?””
I looked toward my bedroom door.
“No. Why?””
He exhaled.
“Because that's impossible.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
“Your mother knew Vanessa.””
My stomach dropped.
“How?””
Daniel was silent for several seconds.
Then he said something that made me grip the phone with both hands.
“Because Vanessa wasn't a stranger who came into your father's life fourteen months ago.””
I stopped breathing.
“What?””
“Ethan, your mother had been investigating her long before she died.””
The call crackled.
May you like
Then Daniel whispered:
“And I think that's why Vanessa wants you out of that house.””
