Priya arrived at the hospital shortly after noon.
She carried the original copy of Eleanor's note in a protective sleeve.
I read it again.
The handwriting was delicate, almost fragile.
If the woman named Natalie ever contacts my attorney, do not give her anything.
There was no explanation.
No accusation.
Just the warning.
“What did Eleanor know about Natalie?” I asked.
Priya sat beside me.
“I don't know.”
“Then why write this?”
“I believe she had a reason.”
“That isn't enough.”
“No.”
She placed another document on the table.
“This is the message Marissa sent your father.”
I read it.
Marissa had told Dad that Eleanor believed someone had been trying to gain access to her estate.
Someone who knew about the existence of her biological son.
Someone who had obtained personal information about me.
The message had been sent three months before my father's surgery.
That was the first time I understood the scale of the problem.
Natalie hadn't necessarily discovered Eleanor by accident.
Someone may have introduced her to the story.
But who?
I asked Priya.
“Who else knew about Eleanor?”
“Your father. Eleanor. Her attorney. Marissa.”
“And me.”
“Eventually.”
“What about my mother?”
“She died years ago.”
I looked down.
There was another possibility.
Someone connected to my family had known the truth.
Someone who had remained silent.
Priya seemed to understand what I was thinking.
“There may be more people.”
“Can you find them?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Not long.”
I nodded.
Then I noticed another document beneath her folder.
“What is that?”
“A bank record.”
I looked at the name.
It wasn't Eleanor.
It was Natalie.
I stared at the page.
There were several transfers.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
All sent to the same account.
“What is this?”
“Your wife's account.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean the recipient.”
She pointed to the destination account.
I read the name.
Marissa Cole.
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Twenty-three thousand dollars over eleven months.”
I stared at the total.
“Where did she get the money?”
“We don't know.”
“Can we trace it?”
“Some of it.”
Priya turned the page.
The earliest transfers came from an account belonging to a consulting company.
I recognized the company name.
It was one of Natalie's former employers.
“What does that company do?”
“Estate services.”
I looked at her.
“Estate services?”
“Yes.”
That was the missing piece.
Natalie had once worked for a company that helped families manage estates.
She understood probate.
She understood trusts.
She understood how inheritance could be structured.
She knew exactly what questions to ask.
Suddenly, her behavior looked less random.
But there was still something I couldn't accept.
Why would my wife do this?
Money?
Twenty-three thousand dollars wasn't nothing.
But it wasn't enough to justify destroying a marriage.
Unless it wasn't about twenty-three thousand.
Unless it was about something larger.
I asked Priya to trace the account.
She agreed.
While she worked, I went into Dad's room.
He was awake.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I am.”
“What happened?”
I sat down.
“I found something.”
His expression became cautious.
“About Natalie?”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“I knew there was something.”
“Did you know she had paid Marissa?”
His eyes widened.
“No.”
I showed him the documents.
He studied them.
“I didn't know.”
“Dad, why didn't you tell me everything you suspected?”
“Because suspicion isn't proof.”
“You were right.”
He looked at me.
“What did you find?”
I told him about the payments.
He was silent.
Then he said, “Eleanor was afraid someone would use you.”
“Use me for what?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad.”
He took a slow breath.
“Your biological mother had something besides money.”
“What?”
“A collection.”
“What kind?”
“Documents.”
“About me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked toward the window.
“Your grandfather.”
I frowned.
“My grandfather?”
“Eleanor's father.”
I knew almost nothing about him.
He had died before I was born.
“What documents?”
“Business records.”
“From when?”
“Decades ago.”
“Why would they matter?”
Dad hesitated.
“Because your grandfather's company was involved in something illegal.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Financial fraud.”
I sat back.
He continued.
“Your grandfather wasn't the man everyone believed he was.”
“What did he do?”
“I don't know the whole story.”
“But Eleanor did?”
“She found records.”
“Where?”
“In the old house.”
I thought of the property.
The inheritance.
The house Eleanor had left me.
“Are the documents still there?”
Dad nodded.
“I believe so.”
My mind raced.
A house.
Documents.
An inheritance.
Someone paying Marissa.
Someone trying to access Eleanor's estate.
And Natalie asking what my biological mother had left behind.
I suddenly understood why money might not be the real objective.
The estate might contain evidence.
Evidence worth far more than sixty thousand dollars.
I looked at Dad.
“Did Eleanor know someone was looking for those records?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why was she afraid?”
“She told me someone had been asking questions.”
“About what?”
“The company.”
“Which company?”
He gave me the name.
It meant nothing at first.
Then I remembered seeing it before.
It was connected to one of Natalie's former clients.
I stood.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Did Natalie know about your father?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever meet Eleanor?”
“No.”
“Then someone told her.”
Dad looked at me.
“That's what I think.”
The door opened.
Priya entered.
“I have an update.”
She handed me her phone.
“The account receiving Natalie's payments is not controlled by Marissa.”
I looked at the screen.
“Who controls it?”
“A company registered six months ago.”
“What company?”
She gave me the name.
I recognized the surname.
Cole.
“Marissa's family?”
“Possibly.”
“Who owns it?”
“Marissa's brother.”
I frowned.
“What does he do?”
“Private investigations.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Investigations into what?”
Priya looked at me.
“Estate fraud.”
Everything became painfully clear.
Natalie had not simply been chasing an inheritance.
She may have been paying someone to investigate Eleanor's estate.
But why?
Priya continued.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“The payments started before Eleanor died.”
I stared at her.
That meant Natalie had been involved before the inheritance existed.
Before the will became relevant.
Before anyone knew what Eleanor would leave behind.
Unless she had known already.
I asked Priya to find out who introduced Natalie to Marissa.
She nodded.
“I'm working on it.”
I looked at Dad.
His face had gone pale.
“What?”
He pointed weakly toward the folder.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“I remember now.”
“Remember what?”
“The woman I saw with Natalie.”
“You said you didn't know her.”
“I didn't.”
He closed his eyes.
“But I saw her before.”
“Where?”
“At Eleanor's funeral.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was there.”
“Who?”
“The woman with Natalie.”
I stared at him.
“Why would she be at Eleanor's funeral?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“No.”
“Did she see you?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knew who you were.”
He nodded.
I stood beside his bed.
The pieces were coming together.
But one question remained.
Why had Eleanor specifically warned her attorney about Natalie?
I looked at Priya.
“I want to see Eleanor's house.”
Priya nodded.
“That may be the next step.”
Dad reached for my hand.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
He squeezed my fingers.
Then he said something that stopped me.
“Don't go alone.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Inside Eleanor’s House, I Found the Missing Evidence My Father Had Been Searching For—and a Message Addressed Directly to Me
My Father Asked for Money He Had Never Needed Before, and My Wife’s Cruel Answer Made Me Realize Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 7 of 12
