Chapter 3 - The Birthday Gift From Five Years Ago
“Mom,” Nathan said into the phone, “don't do anything with that letter.”
I watched him carefully.
Margaret sounded offended.
“Why wouldn't I?”
“Just don't.”
“What is going on?”
“I'll call you tomorrow.”
He disconnected.
I stared at him.
“What letter?”
Nathan placed his phone on the counter.
“It's nothing.”
“Then show me.”
“I don't have it.”
“Margaret does.”
“It was ceremonial.”
“Ceremonial?”
“It wasn't a deed.”
I folded my arms.
“What did it say?”
Nathan hesitated.
That was enough.
I called James.
Nathan reached toward my phone.
“Don't.”
I stepped backward.
He stopped.
James answered.
I explained what Margaret had said.
My brother was silent for several seconds.
“Caroline, ask Nathan whether he represented himself as having authority to transfer the property.”
Nathan heard him.
“This is ridiculous.”
James's voice remained calm.
“That's not an answer.”
“It was a birthday letter.”
“What did it say?”
Nathan rubbed both hands over his face.
“That the condo was hers.”
“Did you sign Caroline's name?”
“No!”
The answer came quickly enough that I believed him.
James continued.
“Did you sign anything on behalf of Monroe Family Holdings?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Nathan?”
“I was an officer at the time.”
“No,” I said.
“You were a consultant.”
“I handled operations.”
“You never had transfer authority.”
“I didn't transfer anything!”
James interrupted.
“Then tomorrow morning, Nathan should provide a copy of whatever he signed.”
Nathan stared at the phone.
“And if I don't?”
“Then we'll obtain it another way.”
Nathan disconnected my call.
I stared at him.
“That was childish.”
“You're turning this into a criminal investigation.”
“No. Your behavior is turning it into one.”
He paced toward the window.
For years, I had mistaken Nathan's confidence for competence.
He dressed beautifully.
Spoke easily.
Knew how to make people feel important.
He could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with five business cards and two invitations.
I had admired that.
Daniel had been quiet.
Thoughtful.
Methodical.
Nathan was the opposite.
After years of grief, his energy had felt like sunlight.
Now, standing in our living room after midnight, I wondered how much of that sunlight had simply been performance.
My phone vibrated.
A text from Sophie.
Mom? Is everything okay?
I immediately went upstairs.
She was sitting on her bed.
The scrapbook remained beside her.
“You heard us?”
“A little.”
I sat down.
She looked toward the hallway.
“Is Nathan leaving?”
Children sometimes ask the question adults spend hours avoiding.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she surprised me.
“Good.”
I stared at her.
Sophie wiped her cheek.
“I know that's horrible.”
“No.”
“It isn't just tonight.”
My heart sank.
“What do you mean?”
She looked down.
“Grandma Margaret says things when you're not there.”
My chest tightened.
“What things?”
“That Dad left us with nothing.”
I froze.
“She said Nathan saved us.”
“What else?”
Sophie hesitated.
“She told Caleb he should be grateful Nathan lets him use his last name at school events.”
“He doesn't use Nathan's last name.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“She says it anyway.”
I felt sick.
“How long?”
“Maybe two years.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Nathan said she was old-fashioned.”
There it was again.
Excuses disguised as peacekeeping.
“What did Nathan hear?”
“Some of it.”
“And?”
“He'd tell us not to upset you.”
My eyes burned.
I had spent years believing Nathan was protecting me from Margaret's difficult personality.
In reality, he had been protecting Margaret from consequences.
Sophie whispered, “Are you mad at me?”
I pulled her into my arms.
“Never.”
She started crying.
“I didn't want another family to disappear.”
That sentence nearly destroyed me.
She had endured Margaret because she feared losing Nathan would mean losing another father.
I held her until her breathing slowed.
Then I noticed something sticking from the scrapbook.
A folded card.
“What is that?”
Sophie pulled it out.
“Grandma mailed it last month.”
“Why didn't I see it?”
“She told me not to show you.”
My stomach tightened.
Sophie handed it over.
The handwriting was Margaret's.
Dear Sophie,
You're old enough now to understand that families have natural boundaries. Nathan has been extremely generous to you and Caleb, but you must remember that one day he may have children of his own. His responsibilities will naturally change.
I stopped reading.
My hands were trembling.
There was more.
Your mother has been fortunate, but fortunate women should know when not to ask for too much.
I folded the card.
Very carefully.
“Can I keep this?”
Sophie nodded.
I kissed her forehead.
When I returned downstairs, Nathan was still there.
He looked at the card.
“What is that?”
“Something your mother sent Sophie.”
He read it.
For once, he didn't defend Margaret immediately.
He sat down.
“I didn't know.”
“But you knew enough.”
He looked up.
“What does that mean?”
“You knew she was saying things to them.”
“Sophie told you?”
“Yes.”
Nathan looked genuinely shaken.
“I thought Mom was just making comments.”
“To children who lost their father.”
“I didn't know it was this bad.”
“Because you never wanted to know.”
His eyes dropped.
At 7:15 the next morning, James arrived.
By 8:00, we had preliminary divorce paperwork.
At 8:37, Margaret arrived.
Without calling.
She marched into the penthouse carrying a leather folder.
Nathan stood.
“Mom?”
She ignored him.
She looked at me.
“You want proof?”
She dropped the folder onto the table.
“There.”
James opened it.
Inside was the letter.
Nathan had signed it five years earlier.
It stated that the Brookline condominium was being presented to Margaret Cole for her exclusive ownership and enjoyment.
No legal deed.
No valid transfer.
But at the bottom were words that changed the atmosphere completely.
Authorized on behalf of Monroe Family Holdings.
Nathan's signature appeared underneath.
James looked up.
“You had no authority to sign this.”
Margaret's face changed.
“Nathan?”
He swallowed.
“It was symbolic.”
“You told me it was mine!”
“It is effectively yours.”
“No,” James said. “It isn't.”
Margaret stared at me.
“You're throwing a sixty-five-year-old woman into the street?”
“No one said that.”
“You're vindictive.”
“You humiliated my children at a party I paid for.”
“That has nothing to do with my home.”
“Exactly.”
She stopped.
I continued.
“Which is why I haven't made any decision about your occupancy yet.”
Nathan looked relieved.
Too relieved.
Then James opened another document.
“However, we have another issue.”
He placed the company statements beside Nathan's letter.
Margaret glanced down.
James pointed toward the transfers.
“Mrs. Cole, are you the owner of the account ending in 4419?”
Margaret's face went blank.
Nathan whispered, “James, don't.”
That was when I knew the answer.
James looked at me.
“Caroline, I think you need to see where the rest of these transfers went.”
He turned his laptop around.
There were not six months of payments.
There were three years.
And the total wasn't sixty-eight thousand dollars.
May you like
It was $312,400.
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