Chapter 3 - THE DEAD LAWYER'S LETTER
Graham Ellis had handled my grandmother's estate for almost thirty years.
He wore bow ties, smelled faintly of peppermint, and used to call me "Miss Beth" even after I turned thirty.
When he died, I attended his funeral.
Dwight did not.
Christopher requested the trust file from Graham's former firm.
By afternoon, we were sitting across from a young attorney named Priya Shah in a conference room overlooking Baltimore Harbor.
Priya opened a thick archival folder.
"Your grandmother amended the trust eleven months before she died."
"I know."
"Do you know why?"
I shook my head.
Priya slid a sealed copy toward me.
"She was worried someone might pressure you into transferring assets after marriage."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Someone?"
"She didn't name anyone. But she gave Mr. Ellis instructions. Any transfer involving a spouse required a separate confirmation letter prepared by him before his death."
Christopher leaned forward.
"The Graham letter."
Priya nodded.
"Exactly."
My hands went cold.
"Does the letter exist?"
"Yes."
She did not hand it to me.
Instead, she asked, "Has anyone recently contacted this firm pretending to be you?"
Christopher and I looked at each other.
"Why?" he asked.
Priya turned her monitor around.
Three weeks earlier, someone had emailed from an address almost identical to mine.
The message requested the Graham letter.
It included a scan of my driver's license.
And my signature.
Except I had never sent it.
"Was anything released?" Christopher asked.
"No. The verification failed."
I stared at the fake signature.
It was good.
Very good.
Good enough to fool someone who did not see me sign my name every day.
"Who would have access to your identification?" Priya asked.
I thought about wedding paperwork.
Mortgage applications.
Passport copies.
The folder Susan had insisted we keep in the family apartment because "important documents belong together."
My stomach turned.
"All of them."
Christopher's jaw tightened.
"We need to move fast."
By five, he had filed for emergency financial restraints and a temporary protection order based on Jared's assault and Dwight's messages.
At six-thirty, Dwight called from an unknown number.
I answered on Christopher's advice while Amy recorded from another device.
"Elizabeth, stop this nonsense."
"What nonsense?"
"Freezing the account."
"My money is in that account."
"Our money. We're married."
"For one day."
He exhaled sharply.
"You signed vows."
"Did Ashley hear them?"
Silence.
It lasted four full seconds.
Then he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Good. Then you won't mind explaining the video."
The line went dead.
Ten minutes later, Ashley texted me.
PLEASE DON'T RUIN MY LIFE OVER A MISTAKE.
I almost laughed.
Then another message arrived.
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT DWIGHT PROMISED HIS FATHER.
I typed nothing.
She sent one final line.
ASK JARED WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR $48,000.
Christopher read it and went still.
"We need the bank statements tonight."
When the subpoenaed records arrived the next morning, the money was gone.
But it had not gone toward our wedding.
It had gone to a company I had never heard of.
A company owned by Jared.
---
(To be continued)
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