The letter was short and unmistakably Richard’s.
If anyone tells you I intended to hand everything to Michael, they are lying. Do not sign anything without an independent lawyer.
That sentence brought her back to life faster than any prayer had.
Through a church friend, Evelyn found attorney Janice Holloway, a probate lawyer with a quiet voice and the kind of eyes that missed very little. Janice listened without interrupting, then told her to do one thing: get out of the house without raising suspicion.
“Meet me at the airport café,” Janice had said. “Bring every document you have. I’ll bring the rest.”
So now Evelyn straightened her shoulders and walked through the terminal doors, past strangers dragging luggage toward real destinations. Her own reflection flashed in polished tile and glass as she crossed the concourse toward a café near the center atrium.
Janice was already there, gray blazer, leather briefcase, two coffees waiting.
She looked up once and nodded.
Evelyn sat down.
Janice opened the briefcase, slid out a thick folder, and said the one sentence that changed the temperature of Evelyn’s entire life.
