Once, he asked, “Are they treating you well?”
“Of course.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Leah.”
I kissed his forehead.
“Please don’t worry about me.”
That was another mistake.
I had spent so much time protecting him from stress that I accidentally protected everyone else from consequences.
Two days after his funeral, we gathered in the office of his attorney, Eleanor Ward.
Eleanor had known Thomas for more than twenty years.
She was a small woman with silver hair, intelligent gray eyes, and a manner that discouraged people from interrupting her.
She explained that Thomas had arranged his estate through a trust and separate property transfers.
There would be no public courtroom spectacle.
No dramatic reading before distant relatives.
Everything had been prepared.
She handed Jared a thick cream-colored envelope.
“Your father wanted you to receive this personally.”
Jared opened it.
Inside was a deed, a folder of photographs, and a letter.
