CHAPTER 3 THE WILL THEY TRIED TO BURY
I woke after surgery believing I was still thirteen years old.
For several confused seconds, I thought I was back in my childhood bedroom, hiding beneath a blanket while my parents screamed downstairs.
Then I smelled disinfectant.
I heard the slow beep of a monitor.
And I remembered the brick.
My face was wrapped in thick bandages, and my left eye was covered. Every heartbeat brought a dull throb through my skull.
Wyatt sat beside the bed with his head lowered, asleep in the chair.
His hand still held mine.
I squeezed his fingers.
He woke instantly.
“Sadie?”
“Did they save it?”
His expression softened.
“The surgeon said everything went as well as possible. The pressure is gone. Your optic nerve is responding.”
“Can I see?”
“They won’t remove the covering until tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The word should have comforted me.
Instead, I remembered Harold’s photograph.
“Where is Mr. Bell?”
“At the police station. He gave a full statement.”
“And the locket?”
“The police have it.”
I turned my head toward Wyatt’s voice.
“Tell me what he said.”
“You need to rest.”
“I need the truth.”
Wyatt hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me more than the answer.
Finally, he pulled his chair closer.
“Harold worked for Evelyn Mercer at her farm. She was your grandmother’s sister, just like you were told. But she also had a daughter.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Then who?”
“Your biological mother was Evelyn’s daughter, Rebecca.”
I had never heard that name.
“Rebecca Mercer died shortly after you were born.”
“How?”
“A car accident.”
“Then why did my parents raise me?”
“Your mother—Linda—was Rebecca’s cousin. Evelyn was recovering from surgery and couldn’t care for an infant. Linda offered to take you temporarily.”
Temporarily.
The word tore through me.
“All these years, they told me I was their daughter.”
Wyatt nodded slowly.
“They legally adopted you eighteen months later. Harold says Evelyn believed it was best because you were already attached to them. But before the adoption was finalized, she created a trust for you.”
“A trust?”
“Property, investments, and mineral rights connected to her farm.”
“How much?”
Wyatt took a breath.
“Possibly more than twelve million dollars.”
For a moment, I thought the medication had distorted his words.
“Twelve million?”
“Harold says the exact amount could be higher now.”
I stared at the ceiling through my one uncovered eye.
My parents had spent my entire childhood telling me I owed them.
Dad kept a notebook of every expense connected to me.
School supplies.
Dental appointments.
College application fees.
When I turned eighteen, he placed the notebook in front of me and said, “You’ve cost this family $147,000.”
I had worked two jobs through college because they refused to help.
Meanwhile, they bought Melanie a new car at sixteen and paid for three different attempts at cosmetology school.
They called me selfish for buying used textbooks.
They mocked me for wearing thrift-store clothes.
And all that time, they may have been living off money that belonged to me.
“What happened to the trust?” I asked.
“That’s the complicated part. Evelyn’s first will divided everything among several relatives, including your adoptive mother. But her second will placed the majority into a trust for you.”
“The will inside the clock.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Harold deliver it?”
“He tried. After Evelyn died, your father accused him of stealing from the farm and threatened to have him arrested. Harold was already caring for his wife, who had dementia. He became frightened.”
“So he hid the key.”
“And waited.”
“For what?”
“For proof that your parents were willing to hurt you.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“Well, he got it.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Detective Morales entered with a woman in a dark green suit carrying a leather briefcase.
“This is Attorney Camille Rhodes,” Morales said. “She represented Evelyn Mercer near the end of her life.”
Camille was in her sixties, with silver hair cut sharply at her jaw.
The moment she saw me, regret filled her face.
“You look like Rebecca,” she said.
I did not know whether that was supposed to comfort me.
“You knew about me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my parents were using my inheritance?”
“I suspected financial misconduct, but I could never prove that the second will had been executed.”
“Was it?”
She opened her briefcase.
“It was.”
Camille removed a certified copy of a document.
“Evelyn signed this will six months before her death. I prepared it. Two witnesses signed it. The original was meant to be placed in a bank deposit box, but Evelyn changed her mind after your father began asking questions.”
“So she hid it in the clock.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you keep a copy?”
“I did.”
My breath caught.
“Then why hasn’t anyone enforced it?”
“Because a copy is not always enough when an original is deliberately missing and another will has already been admitted to probate. Your parents claimed Evelyn destroyed the later will because she changed her mind.”
“Did you believe them?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you fight?”
Camille lowered her eyes.
“I did. For two years. Your parents produced statements from relatives saying Evelyn was confused. They accused Harold of manipulating her. The court ruled that without the original, there was insufficient evidence.”
I looked at Detective Morales.
“And now?”
“Now we have evidence that your parents actively searched for the hidden document,” she said. “We also recovered the paperwork they tried to make you sign.”
“What was it?”
“A waiver.”
Camille’s voice sharpened.
“It stated that you had been informed of all possible claims against Evelyn Mercer’s estate and voluntarily surrendered them to Linda and Richard Davis for one dollar.”
Rage surged through me so quickly that my monitor began to beep faster.
“They wanted me to sign away twelve million dollars without knowing.”
“More than that,” Camille said. “The farm property was recently identified as part of a major commercial development corridor. A private company offered twenty-eight million dollars for the land.”
Twenty-eight million.
My mother’s laughter returned to me.
Let’s see if Wyatt still loves you with that face.
They had not attacked me because Melanie loved Wyatt.
Melanie did not love anyone but herself.
They attacked me because Wyatt’s money had made me harder to control.
Because marrying him meant I would have lawyers.
Resources.
A husband who would question suspicious paperwork.
The obsession with forcing Wyatt to choose Melanie had been more than jealousy.
If Wyatt married Melanie, his wealth became part of their circle.
If I disappeared, my claim to Evelyn’s estate became easier to erase.
“They weren’t trying to ruin my wedding,” I said.
“No,” Morales replied. “We believe they were trying to isolate you from the only person likely to protect you.”
Wyatt stood.
“They knew I’d have the waiver reviewed.”
Camille nodded.
“And they knew Sadie would listen to you.”
The door opened again.
This time, Detective Ellis entered quickly.
“Lena, we have a problem.”
Morales stepped into the hallway with him, but I heard every word.
“The original will isn’t in the clock.”
“We know that.”
“No. We found evidence it was removed recently. Fresh scratches. Fibers. And partial prints belonging to Linda Davis.”
My mother.
“Where is she?” Morales asked.
Ellis’s silence gave me the answer.
“She was released?”
“Prosecutor declined to hold her overnight on conspiracy without more direct evidence. She was ordered not to contact Sadie.”
“And Melanie?”
“Released with her.”
Morales swore quietly.
I pushed myself up despite the pain.
“They have the will.”
“We don’t know that,” Ellis said.
“Yes, you do. My mother opened the compartment. The will is missing. She’s free. Where would she go?”
Wyatt was already reaching for his phone.
Detective Morales stopped him.
“Do not contact her.”
“She could destroy it.”
“She may already have.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone turned toward me.
“My mother doesn’t destroy anything she believes has value. She hides it until she can use it.”
“Where?” Morales asked.
I thought about every secret place in the house.
The locked drawer in Dad’s office.
The safe behind the basement shelves.
The cedar chest in my parents’ bedroom.
Then I remembered something Melanie once said during an argument.
Mom keeps the things that matter in places dead people can’t complain about.
At the time, I thought she was making another cruel joke about our family.
Now I understood.
“The cemetery.”
Wyatt frowned.
“What?”
“My biological mother. Rebecca. Where is she buried?”
Camille answered immediately.
“Mercer Family Cemetery. On Evelyn’s farm.”
“My mother would hide the will there.”
“Why?” Ellis asked.
“Because she assumes no one knows Rebecca was my mother. She thinks the grave means nothing to me.”
Morales was already moving.
“I’ll get a warrant for the property.”
Before she reached the door, her phone rang.
She answered, listened for five seconds, and went pale.
“What happened?” I asked.
She ended the call.
“A patrol unit was sent to your parents’ home after a neighbor reported smoke.”
My stomach dropped.
“The house?”
“The living room is on fire.”
“The clock,” Wyatt said.
Morales nodded.
“Firefighters are still inside.”
I stared at the ceiling, numb.
My mother had burned the room where the will was hidden.
But if I knew Linda Davis, the fire was not meant to destroy the will.
It was meant to convince everyone that the will had already been destroyed.
And that meant the original was still somewhere she believed no one would dare search.
Two hours later, while officers raced toward Mercer Farm, a nurse brought me a sealed envelope.
“It was delivered to the front desk,” she said.
“By whom?”
“She didn’t leave a name.”
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Rebecca’s grave.
A fresh red rose lay across the headstone.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
STOP DIGGING INTO THE DEAD, SADIE.
THE NEXT GRAVE WILL HAVE YOUR NAME ON IT.
May you like
Underneath the message, in my mother’s unmistakable handwriting, were four final words.
WYATT CANNOT SAVE YOU.
