Chapter 6 - What My Husband Left BehindMy husband had died six years earlier.
Most of our finances were simple.
The house.
Retirement accounts.
Savings.
A brokerage account.
One thing was not.
He had created a modest testamentary trust for Andrew.
Not millions.
Not enough to transform anyone’s life.
But enough to matter.
Andrew would receive full control at forty.
Until then, distributions required limited conditions and trustee approval.
David supervised the structure.
Rebecca knew the trust existed.
I had never told her the balance.
Neither had Andrew.
Yet the worksheet sent to the restructuring company listed an amount only a few thousand dollars away from the truth.
I stared at David.
“How?”
“We’re determining that.”
Andrew was sitting beside me.
His face went pale.
“I may know.”
I turned.
He rubbed both palms against his jeans.
“Rebecca asked me last year whether Dad left me anything besides the life insurance money.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That there was a trust.”
“How much?”
“I didn’t know.”
David asked, “Did she have access to your email?”
Andrew hesitated.
“Yes.”
David and I looked at each other.
“I use the same password too much.”
I closed my eyes.
David searched his archive.
Three months earlier, someone using Andrew’s email account had requested an updated trust valuation.
David’s assistant had refused and told the sender Andrew needed to verify his identity by telephone.
No call followed.
But an older annual statement had been emailed to Andrew two years before.
Rebecca could have found it.
Andrew stared at the table.
“She went through my email.”
Rebecca denied it.
At first.
Then she changed her explanation.
She said married couples did not keep financial secrets.
Andrew answered quietly:
“You kept the loan amount from me.”
She stopped.
The irony was too clean.
Later that afternoon, the doorbell rang.
Laura Bennett stood outside.
Behind her was a young man holding a camera bag.
My stomach turned.
Laura smiled uncertainly.
“Mrs. Mercer. I was told everything had been resolved.”
“Resolved?”
She glanced toward the photographer.
“We have the preliminary listing appointment.”
I did not move.
“What listing appointment?”
Laura’s expression slowly changed.
She opened her folder.
Inside was a listing agreement.
My address.
Suggested asking price:
$949,000.
Seller:
Elaine Mercer.
At the bottom was my name.
Signed.
I stared at it.
Then I looked at Laura.
“That is not my signature.”
Behind me, someone inhaled sharply.
May you like
Rebecca was standing in the hallway.
And this time, even she looked frightened.
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