Chapter 5 - The Secret Beneath My Grandmother's CottageMy grandmother had never told me about a trust.
She had told me about the cottage's leaky roof, the stubborn apple trees, and the mice that found their way into the pantry every winter. She had taught me to change a lightbulb, mend a quilt, and recognize when a person was lying by the way they avoided a question.
But she had never mentioned a secret inheritance.
Margaret watched me study the document.
"The trust was established by your great-grandfather," she explained. "He owned land around the lake before the area became a popular destination. Most of the original property was sold over the decades, but a portion was placed into a protected family arrangement."
"How much land?"
"I don't know the current value. The legal documents were sealed for years, and your grandmother handled the cottage affairs herself."
"Then why would Julian and Victor want it?"
Margaret hesitated.
"Because the cottage sits on the original parcel. The property description in your grandmother's will references a separate agreement that may connect the land to the trust."
I looked down at the deed.
"You're saying my cottage could be worth more than the $450,000 Julian keeps mentioning?"
"I'm saying you shouldn't sign anything until an independent attorney explains every clause."
A terrible possibility began to take shape in my mind.
Julian had never been interested in the cottage because of its sentimental value. He had asked about it persistently, pushed me to obtain appraisals, and transferred our savings to a company connected to Victor.
What if the cottage had been the real objective all along?
I took photographs of the documents and sent them to Detective Harris.
He responded a few minutes later, asking me to bring the originals to the station. He also warned me not to leave them somewhere Julian could access them.
Margaret insisted on driving us back to Rachel's apartment.
Before we left, she caught my hand.
"There's something else you should know. The night Claire became ill, she told me she had seen your grandmother at a charity dinner with Victor. She thought they were discussing the property."
"Grandma knew Victor?"
"Apparently. But she never explained why."
My grandmother had died three years earlier.
I would never be able to ask her.
That evening, Rachel and I contacted an attorney who specialized in inheritance disputes and trusts. She agreed to review the deed the next morning.
For the first time in days, I let myself imagine that there might be a way out of the mess Julian had created.
I could protect the cottage. I could separate our finances. I could discover what had happened to Claire.
Then my phone rang.
Julian.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I answered and put the call on speaker so Rachel could hear.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"With my sister."
"I know that. Which is why I'm asking when you're coming home."
"I'm not ready to come back."
He exhaled angrily.
"Your sister has been filling your head with nonsense."
"No. I've been reading our bank statements."
"You've been talking to people who have no idea what they're talking about."
"Does Victor Sloane know about my grandmother's trust?"
Silence.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Julian said, "Who told you that name?"
"Answer me."
"You have no idea what you're getting involved in."
"Then explain it to me."
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"You want an explanation? Fine. You want to know why I bought the necklace? Because Victor paid for it. You want to know why I asked you to wear it? Because the design was supposed to prove something. But none of it was meant to happen this way."
Rachel's eyes widened.
I went cold.
"What was supposed to happen?"
Julian realized what he'd said.
He stopped talking.
"Julian?"
"Come home."
"No."
"Morgan, listen to me carefully. You have until tomorrow morning to come home and sign the papers. After that, I can't protect you."
The call ended.
Rachel reached for the phone.
"Tell Harris. Now."
I called Detective Harris and repeated every word.
He told me he would review the case with his supervisor and arrange additional safety measures. He couldn't promise an immediate arrest, but he urged me not to return to the apartment alone.
We spent the night at Rachel's.
At three in the morning, I woke from a dream in which the necklace was wrapped around my throat.
My phone was glowing on the bedside table.
One new message.
Unknown number.
Your grandmother knew the truth. Ask why she changed her will six months before she died.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
And ask why Julian was at the cottage the night she died.
My body went rigid.
Grandma Clara had died peacefully in her sleep, according to the doctor. She was ninety-two, and although she had become frail in her final months, nobody had suggested anything suspicious.
Julian had told me he had never visited the cottage without me.
Had he lied about that, too?
I woke Rachel and showed her the messages.
She immediately contacted Detective Harris.
He asked us not to respond and arranged for an investigator to review the number. But before dawn, I made a decision.
I needed to go to Door County.
Not alone, and not without telling the police. But I needed to see the cottage, examine Grandma's papers, and find whatever she might have left behind.
At eight that morning, our attorney called.
Her voice sounded excited but cautious.
"Morgan, the deed contains a reference to an older trust agreement. I've located the trust's registration, and the family parcel appears to include more than the cottage itself."
"How much more?"
"I need a survey and a complete title search before I can give you a reliable figure. But the land borders a section that was incorporated into a larger development plan several years ago."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"What does that mean?"
"It means an investor might have a financial interest in acquiring your property. Potentially a very large one."
"Could that investor be Victor Sloane?"
"I haven't established that. But his company appears in one of the documents connected to the development."
Everything suddenly connected.
The unusual transfers. The pressure to sell. The secret trust. The necklace.
Perhaps Victor wanted me dead. Perhaps he wanted my signature. Perhaps Julian had convinced himself that whatever he was doing could still be called business.
I didn't know.
But I knew I would not sign anything.
At eleven, Rachel drove me to the police station to deliver the original documents. Detective Harris promised to contact the appropriate investigators about the older incident involving Claire.
Before leaving, I asked him to check whether Julian had ever been investigated in connection with my grandmother's death.
He gave me a careful look.
"We can check the records, but I want you to be prepared for the possibility that the messages are designed to frighten you."
"They mentioned a detail Julian told me he'd never been involved in."
"I understand."
He paused.
"Do not go to the cottage without letting us know."
I promised.
Then I asked Rachel to take me home long enough to pack a bag.
As we approached our apartment building, I noticed Julian's car parked across the street.
He was standing beside it.
Waiting.
Rachel immediately slowed down.
"Morgan, we can keep driving."
I stared at my husband through the windshield.
He raised one hand, signaling for us to stop.
Then he walked toward the passenger side of the car.
His face looked exhausted. His eyes were red, and there was a small cut across his knuckle.
He leaned toward the window.
"Morgan," he said quietly, "please. I need you to hear me out."
I didn't open the door.
"What do you want?"
He looked over his shoulder toward the street, then back at me.
"Victor is planning to kill you."
Rachel's hand tightened around the steering wheel.
I stared at Julian.
"How do you know?"
He swallowed.
"Because I helped him arrange it."
And before I could say another word, Julian reached into his coat and showed me a photograph of Claire Sloane, taken only three days earlier.
May you like
She was alive.
And standing beside her was a police officer who had been declared dead two years ago.
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