PART 5
I stared at him.
“What did you do yesterday?”
Dad walked toward the front door.
“Something I should have done ten years ago.”
“What?”
He opened the door.
“Protected myself from my own children.”
The drive to Harold’s house took twenty minutes.
Neither of us spoke much.
The morning sun was barely above the trees.
Everything looked strangely normal.
People walked their dogs.
A school bus stopped at the corner.
A woman in a red coat carried groceries from her car.
Meanwhile, my sister was sitting inside my father’s house, apparently waiting to inherit everything.
I finally broke the silence.
“Dad.”
“Hmm?”
“Did you really change your will yesterday?”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“You’ll find out.”
I frowned.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you’re getting until Harold is present.”
I looked out the window.
“Did you know Vanessa was planning this?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know to change everything yesterday?”
Dad was quiet.
Then he said something that made my stomach tighten.
“Because yesterday, I found out something about your sister.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you when Harold is here.”
That was all.
When we arrived, Harold was already waiting outside.
He was seventy-six, tall and thin, with white hair and the permanent squint of a man who had spent too many years fishing in bright sunlight.
He walked toward us before Dad had even shut off the engine.
“I assume they made the call.”
Dad nodded.
Harold looked at me.
“How much did they tell you?”
“That Dad was dead.”
Harold sighed.
“Of course.”
He opened the front door.
“Come inside.”
We followed him into his study.
The room smelled like old books and coffee.
A large wooden desk sat beneath the window.
On it were three folders.
One was blue.
One was black.
The third was red.
Dad stared at the red folder.
Harold noticed.
“You want to tell her?”
Dad shook his head.
“You do it.”
Harold sat down.
He looked at me.
“Natalie, your father came to see me yesterday afternoon.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t come to talk about money.”
I swallowed.
“What did he come to talk about?”
Harold opened the red folder.
“Your sister.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What about Vanessa?”
Harold removed several sheets of paper.
“Your father discovered that Vanessa had been contacting people about selling the house.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Dad nodded.
“She wasn’t planning to renovate it.”
Harold continued.
“She had already spoken with a developer.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She intended to sell the property immediately after your father’s death.”
I looked at Dad.
“How did she think she could do that?”
“Because she believed she would inherit it.”
Harold placed another document on the table.
“She had also discussed selling your father’s truck.”
Dad shook his head.
“And the fishing boat.”
I stared at him.
“The boat?”
Dad gave a bitter smile.
“Apparently everything has a price.”
Harold wasn’t finished.
“There’s more.”
He opened another section of the folder.
“Three months ago, Vanessa contacted your father’s bank.”
My eyes widened.
“Why?”
“She told them your father was becoming mentally incapable of managing his finances.”
Dad’s expression hardened.
“She wanted access.”
“And did they give it to her?”
“No.”
Harold looked at me.
“They called your father.”
Dad nodded.
“That was when I started paying attention.”
I sat down.
“So yesterday…”
“Yesterday,” Dad said, “I decided I was done waiting.”
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