Chapter 13 - THE SON I DID NOT RECOGNIZE
I met Brian for the first time since the hearing in Naomi's conference room.
His attorney attended, and every word was carefully documented.
Brian looked exhausted.
That exhaustion did not make him innocent.
I placed the birthday photograph on the table between us.
“Why did you do this?”
He stared at the dog bowl.
“It was supposed to be funny.”
“Why did you forge my death certificate?”
His eyes flicked toward the door.
“I didn't forge anything.”
“Then tell me who did.”
He swallowed.
“Melissa handled the paperwork.”
“Did Melissa also persuade you to call me a freeloader in the home I bought?”
Brian looked away.
For one terrible moment I remembered him at six years old, running into my arms with scraped knees.
I understood that I could love that memory and still refuse to finance the man sitting across from me.
He said Philip had offered him a share of an enormous property settlement.
The condition was that I sign a series of routine administrative documents.
When I refused to sell the house or discuss Helen's estate, Philip suggested a guardianship petition would simplify matters.
Brian insisted he had believed it was only temporary.
I asked whether he had ever wondered why a temporary measure required lying about my death.
He said nothing.
Naomi asked about the camera in my study.
“Melissa wanted proof Dad was forgetting things.”
“Did she record him without his knowledge?”
Brian's shoulders slumped.
“Yes.”
“And did she ever tell you to erase recordings?”
“Yes.”
Then he said something I had not expected.
“Dad, I found a letter in Mom's box.”
I leaned forward.
“What letter?”
“It said I wasn't the person she had planned to leave everything to.”
His face twisted.
“She loved a stranger more than her own son.”
“Show me the letter.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Philip has it.”
Brian suddenly lifted his eyes.
“He has more than the letter.”
His attorney tried to stop him, but Brian spoke over him.
“Philip has a recording of Mom.”
“From when?”
“Three days before she died.”
I had been sitting beside Helen's hospital bed three days before she died.
I had never left her alone for more than twenty minutes.
The possibility of a final recording without my knowledge made the room seem to tilt.
May you like
Brian whispered, “And in it, she says your name like she's afraid of you.”
