Chapter 8 - BEATRICE’S BIGGEST MISTAKE
“Thomas promised him what?”
I was standing in Samuel’s office.
He handed me the letter.
Jason’s attorney claimed that before Thomas died, he had verbally expressed an intention that Emily should eventually receive substantial family property.
Therefore, according to Jason’s position, my control of the Bellevue home violated the “spirit” of Thomas’s wishes.
I read the sentence twice.
Then laughed.
Samuel raised one eyebrow.
“I’m glad you’re amused.”
“I was married to Thomas for thirty-seven years.”
“That does give you some evidentiary advantage.”
“Thomas met Jason four times before he died.”
“Five, according to Emily.”
“Fine. Five.”
“And?”
“And on the fifth meeting, Jason spilled Cabernet on our carpet and spent twenty minutes explaining cryptocurrency to a man who had managed pension investments for twenty years.”
Samuel almost smiled.
“Thomas did not promise Jason a house.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
Jason’s lawyer suggested the occupancy agreement had effectively transformed into an implied gift through long-term conduct.
Samuel called the argument weak.
But weak arguments can still become expensive arguments.
Then Beatrice made her biggest mistake.
She called me.
“Margaret.”
“Beatrice.”
“We need to speak woman to woman.”
I looked at the clock.
“Do lawyers disqualify us from womanhood?”
“This doesn’t need to become ugly.”
“It became ugly around the time you told me I wasn’t family.”
She exhaled sharply.
“You are being emotional.”
“Interesting assessment.”
“Emily and Jason built their life in that house.”
“Yes.”
“Sophie knows it as home.”
“Yes.”
“Surely you wouldn’t traumatize your granddaughter because your feelings were hurt over a dinner invitation.”
There it was.
Weaponizing Sophie.
My last remaining patience disappeared.
“This is not about dinner.”
“Of course it is.”
“Did you witness Jason’s financial declaration?”
Silence.
“Beatrice?”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“It listed my property.”
“It was understood that the house would eventually belong to Emily.”
“Eventually is not currently.”
“Thomas intended—”
I interrupted.
“Be very careful.”
The line went quiet.
“You did not know my husband well enough to invoke him against me.”
She lowered her voice.
“I know what Jason told me.”
“And apparently Jason has told many people many things.”
Then she said something peculiar.
“Thomas knew the children needed security.”
Children.
Jason had not been Thomas’s child.
The phrasing bothered me.
“What exactly are you claiming Thomas said?”
A pause.
“That he wanted Emily taken care of.”
“That is true.”
“And therefore—”
“That is why he made sure I was financially protected.”
Silence.
I continued.
“He trusted me to help Emily responsibly. He did not leave instructions transferring my assets to your son.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You always looked down on Jason.”
“No. I underestimated him.”
She hung up.
I stood holding the phone.
Something about the call bothered me.
Not emotionally.
Factually.
Beatrice knew too much about Thomas’s estate planning language.
I called Samuel.
“How much could Beatrice know about Thomas’s will?”
“Public probate records contain some information.”
“Enough to know how he described protecting Emily?”
“Possibly.”
Then Samuel paused.
“Why?”
I told him.
He became quiet.
“Margaret, don’t speak to her again without recording or counsel.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Jason’s legal argument may not have originated with Jason.”
That afternoon, Emily called.
“Mom, Beatrice came here.”
“What happened?”
“She wants me to sign something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A declaration saying Dad always intended this house to become mine.”
“Do not sign it.”
“I didn’t.”
“What did she say?”
“That it would protect Sophie.”
Of course.
“She cried,” Emily continued.
“She said Jason could lose everything.”
“He may.”
“She says you want that.”
“What do you think?”
Emily was silent.
“That’s why I called.”
Not the answer I wanted.
But perhaps the answer we needed.
“I want Jason held responsible for what he did. That is different from wanting him destroyed.”
“She says there’s a way to fix it.”
“What way?”
“If I confirm the house was always meant as a gift, Robert thinks they can challenge your ownership control.”
I closed my eyes.
“Emily.”
“I said I didn’t sign it.”
“Good.”
“She left it here.”
“Photograph every page.”
“I already did.”
That surprised me.
Then Emily said, “You taught me to document things.”
For the first time in weeks, pride outweighed disappointment.
She sent the photographs.
Samuel reviewed them.
Twenty minutes later, he called me.
“Margaret, this is helpful.”
“How helpful?”
“Very.”
The declaration referred to a conversation supposedly occurring at our old home in October seven years earlier.
Thomas had died eight years earlier.
The document placed him in a room one year after his funeral.
I stared at the date.
Beatrice had apparently become so confident that nobody would challenge her that she had forgotten to check whether a dead man was alive when she claimed he made a promise.
Samuel’s voice was almost cheerful.
“This,” he said, “is what we call a credibility problem.”
But the false date was not the strangest part.
At the bottom of the declaration was a handwritten reference number.
Samuel recognized the format.
It matched a document from Thomas’s original estate file.
A document Beatrice should never have seen.
Somebody had given her access.
May you like
And there was only one person in the family who had ever kept copies.
Me.
