Chapter 7 - SOMEONE HAD BEEN ANSWERING FOR JESSI.
Jessi walked out of the bank before responding.
Her mother followed slowly, holding the sleeve of Jessi's coat.
Outside, the air was cold enough to sting.
Jessi put the attorney on speaker.
"Say that again."
"I contacted the family office several times."
"Not me."
"I was told messages were being forwarded."
"To what number?"
He read it.
It was not Jessi's number.
She recognized the area code.
The family office.
"Email?"
He read that too.
The same recovery email attached to her bank profile.
Jessi closed her eyes.
"Did I ever reply?"
"Someone did."
Her eyes opened.
"What do you mean, someone?"
"I received two short responses."
"From that email?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
The attorney hesitated.
"One said you were traveling and saw no urgency. The second said you trusted Luca to manage household matters."
Jessi stared across the parking lot.
"I never wrote that."
Her mother whispered, "I told you."
Jessi looked at her.
Not accusing.
Just tired.
"I know."
The attorney's voice became careful.
"Jessi, I need to be precise. I have no basis yet to identify who sent those messages. I can only tell you they came from an address I was given as yours."
"Who gave it to you?"
A pause.
"The family office."
Of course.
"Did my father give you instructions about the document box?"
"Yes."
Jessi tightened her grip on the phone.
"What instructions?"
"He told me that after his death, the box was to remain locked unless one of three things occurred."
"What things?"
"Your mother requested it. You requested it. Or there was a dispute over control of the estate."
Jessi looked at her mother.
"What was inside?"
"I don't know."
"You're his lawyer."
"I handled portions of his estate planning. Not everything. Your father was very particular about separating business records, trust administration, and personal correspondence."
"Can Luca open it?"
"Not with my authorization."
"Does he have another key?"
"I was told there were two keys originally."
Jessi's mother frowned.
"Two?"
The attorney continued.
"One remained with your father. I don't know where that key went. The other was given to your mother."
Jessi looked at the brass key.
One residual question appeared in her mind, but she pushed it away.
Not now.
"What happens if we go open the box?"
"Legally? That depends on ownership."
"Practically?"
"If it's still where your father left it, we document the opening."
"Can you come?"
"Yes."
Luca called before Jessi hung up.
She ignored it.
Ten minutes later a text appeared.
STOP DRAGGING MOM AROUND. YOU'RE MAKING HER WORSE.
Jessi showed her mother.
Her mother read it twice.
Then handed the phone back.
"He always says worse."
"What do you mean?"
"If I disagree, I'm worse. If I cry, I'm worse. If I forget something, I'm worse. If I remember something he says I shouldn't, I'm worse."
Jessi stared at the message.
One word.
A whole system.
The attorney met them that afternoon outside the mansion.
He was in his sixties, wearing an old wool coat and carrying a slim document case.
Luca opened the door before they rang.
His face changed when he saw the attorney.
"Seriously?"
The attorney nodded politely.
"Good afternoon."
"This is unnecessary."
"Perhaps."
That answer irritated Luca.
Wendy appeared behind him.
Her clothes were different, but the Mimosa smugness remained.
Jessi stepped into the foyer.
The wine was gone.
So was the rag.
So were the eleven bank envelopes.
She stopped.
"Where's my mail?"
Luca looked bored.
"What mail?"
"The envelopes that were on that table."
"Oh. Those."
"Where?"
"Office."
"Whose office?"
"Mine."
"They're addressed to me."
"Then take them."
"Now."
Luca sighed.
"After."
"No."
The attorney interrupted.
"Let's preserve everyone's temperature here."
Jessi almost laughed at the phrase.
Even the attorney seemed to regret it.
He tried again.
"Jessi's correspondence should be returned to her."
Luca called toward the rear hallway.
A staff member appeared carrying the envelopes in a neat stack.
Jessi recognized her from childhood.
Mrs. Alvarez.
She had worked for the family for more than fifteen years.
Now she wouldn't meet Jessi's eyes.
"Thank you," Jessi said.
Mrs. Alvarez gave a tiny nod.
Then Luca said, "You can go."
She left immediately.
Not walked.
Left.
Jessi noticed.
The attorney documented the envelopes with photographs before placing them into a folder.
Then they went upstairs.
Father's study had barely changed.
Leather chairs.
Dark shelves.
A huge desk.
The smell of cedar.
For one brutal second, Jessi expected him to look up and complain that nobody knocked anymore.
The document box sat on a lower shelf behind the desk.
Dark wood.
Brass corners.
A keyhole in front.
Jessi's mother stopped at the doorway.
"I'm not going in."
Jessi turned.
"You don't have to."
Luca looked at her.
"This is exactly what I'm talking about."
Jessi ignored him.
The attorney photographed the box from several angles.
"No visible damage."
Then he looked at Jessi.
"Your key."
She removed it.
The brass slid into the lock.
For half a second it stuck.
Then turned.
Click.
Everyone heard it.
Wendy stopped breathing.
Jessi opened the lid.
Inside were folders.
Not piles of cash.
Not jewelry.
Not some miraculous signed confession.
Paper.
Ordinary paper.
A handwritten inventory lay on top.
The attorney picked it up.
"Your father's handwriting?"
Mother looked from the doorway.
"Yes."
The attorney nodded.
"We'll verify rather than assume."
Good.
Facts first.
They removed each folder one by one.
Property records.
Insurance.
Old tax correspondence.
A family-company operating agreement.
Copies of trust-related documents.
A sealed envelope addressed to Mother.
Another addressed to Jessi.
And a thin folder labeled:
TEMPORARY AUTHORITY — LUCA.
Luca moved.
Not toward the door.
Toward the desk.
The attorney raised a hand.
"Don't touch anything."
"I know what's in there."
Jessi looked at him.
"Then tell me."
Luca didn't.
The attorney opened the folder.
Inside was a photocopy of a limited authorization their father had signed during a period when he had been unable to manage daily financial matters.
It granted Luca temporary power over certain estate expenses.
Jessi felt Luca relax.
Then the attorney turned the page.
There was another document.
Same letterhead.
Same names.
A later date.
Across the top, in capital letters, were three words.
REVOCATION OF AUTHORITY.
Jessi looked at her brother.
"When did this take effect?"
The attorney read silently.
Then again.
"According to this copy, before your father died."
Luca's face went completely blank.
The attorney looked up.
"This is only a copy. We need the executed original."
"Where is it?" Jessi asked.
The attorney turned to the final page.
A handwritten notation appeared near the bottom.
Three words.
ORIGINAL — SENT BANK.
May you like
And beside those words was a date.
The exact date the first missing envelope had been mailed.
