Chapter 8 - THE ASHES
Julian sprinted down the hallway.
I followed him into the east-wing study.
The room smelled faintly of smoke.
Julian dropped to his knees in front of the massive stone fireplace.
Inside, sitting on the cold grate, was a pile of gray ash.
Beatrice hadn’t lied. She had burned the document.
Julian slammed his fist against the stone hearth.
“It’s gone,” he muttered. “Without that will, her lawyers can drag this out for years. They’ll claim the estate is marital property. She’ll use my father’s money to fight me.”
I walked over to the fireplace.
I looked at the ashes. Then, I looked at the heavy brass fire poker resting on the stand.
Something didn’t make sense.
“Sir,” I said quietly.
Julian didn’t look up. “It’s over, Clara.”
“Sir, look at the grate.”
He finally looked at where I was pointing.
“I clean these fireplaces every morning,” I explained. “The flue was closed. If she lit a fire in here today, the entire room would be filled with smoke. The smoke alarms would have gone off.”
Julian frowned. He reached into the ashes.
They were cold.
“She didn’t burn it here,” Julian realized.
“She didn’t burn it at all,” a voice said from the doorway.
We both turned.
Margaret had rolled her wheelchair into the study.
She held out her hand.
In her fingers was a thick, sealed envelope with a red wax stamp.
Julian stood up slowly. “Mom... what is that?”
“The real will,” Margaret smiled softly.
Julian walked over and took it. “But Beatrice said she took it from the safe.”
“Beatrice is a fool,” Margaret said, her voice filled with quiet triumph. “She found a document in the safe, yes. But it wasn’t your father’s will. It was a decoy I drafted years ago. I knew she was looking for it. I knew she would eventually find a way in.”
“Where was the real one?” Julian asked.
Margaret patted the thick cushion of her wheelchair.
“Right under me,” she said. “For two years. I never let it out of my sight.”
Julian stared at his mother in absolute awe.
She hadn’t been a victim waiting to be rescued.
May you like
She had been a general, quietly waiting for her enemy to make a mistake.
And Beatrice had finally fallen into the trap.
