CHAPTER 5: MY FATHER’S SECOND WILL
Storage 18 was located in an industrial facility forty minutes outside the city.
Robert insisted we leave before sunrise.
He arranged for a private security officer to meet us there.
The manager recognized my father’s name immediately.
“Mr. Brooks came here often,” he said.
“How often?” I asked.
“Once or twice a month during the last year.”
My father had been too tired to attend my birthday dinner four months before his death.
At least, that was what Mom had told me.
Apparently, he had still been strong enough to drive forty minutes to a storage facility.
The manager led us down a long concrete corridor.
Unit 18 stood at the far end.
I inserted the key.
The lock opened.
Inside were boxes.
Dozens of them.
Bank records.
Medical files.
Photographs.
Old electronics.
A locked metal cabinet stood against the back wall.
Robert examined it.
“Do you have another key?”
I shook my head.
The security officer cut the lock.
Inside was a fireproof safe.
This time, the code was easy.
My birthday.
The door opened.
A digital recorder sat on top of several folders.
Beneath it was a sealed envelope.
The front read:
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THOMAS BROOKS
Robert took a slow breath.
“Jason was telling the truth.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
I handed him the document.
He examined the signatures.
“It appears valid.”
“Appearances haven’t been helpful lately.”
Robert continued reading.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“This will was written six months ago.”
“That was two months before Dad died.”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Robert hesitated.
“Read it.”
The first pages contained legal language I barely understood.
Then I found the section listing beneficiaries.
My father had left me the house.
That part hadn’t changed.
But the remaining assets had been divided into three trusts.
One for me.
One for Chloe.
And one for a person I had never heard of.
Emily Brooks.
I looked at Robert.
“Who is Emily?”
“I don’t know.”
The trust contained nearly three million dollars.
More money than I knew my father possessed.
Chloe’s trust contained nothing unless she cooperated with a criminal investigation.
My mother received no inheritance.
Jason was named in a separate provision.
If he provided truthful testimony, my father would not pursue certain civil claims against him.
Dad had written a trap into his own will.
He expected betrayal.
And he expected someone to confess.
I picked up the recorder.
There was one audio file.
I pressed play.
My father’s voice filled the storage unit.
Weak.
Tired.
But unmistakably his.
“Hannah, if you are hearing this, then I failed to tell you the truth while I still had the chance.”
I covered my mouth.
Robert looked away, giving me privacy that didn’t exist.
Dad continued.
“I transferred the house to you because it was the only asset Margaret could not reach.”
Hearing him call my mother Margaret felt strange.
“She and Chloe believed I was hiding money from them. In reality, I was protecting what remained.”
A pause.
A breath.
Then:
“They have stolen from me. But theft is not the reason I created this recording.”
My skin prickled.
“Eleven months ago, I confronted Margaret about the withdrawals.”
“That same night, I became violently ill.”
I gripped the recorder.
“Doctors called it a cardiac event. I believed them until it happened again after a second confrontation.”
Robert’s jaw tightened.
Dad’s voice became softer.
“I began testing my medication.”
“The tablets inside my prescription bottle did not always match what the pharmacy dispensed.”
My knees weakened.
I sat on one of the boxes.
“I do not know whether Margaret intended to kill me.”
“But I know someone wanted me weak, confused and unable to control my finances.”
My eyes burned.
I remembered Dad forgetting conversations.
Struggling to stand.
Falling asleep at dinner.
Mom always said his heart condition was getting worse.
Dad continued.
“The person you must find is Emily.”
“She knows how this began.”
“She knows why Margaret has spent twenty-eight years making sure you never learned the truth.”
I stopped breathing.
Twenty-eight years.
My age.
The recording crackled.
“If Margaret discovers you found this, she will tell you Emily is a liar.”
“She will tell you I betrayed our family.”
“She will tell you anything to keep you from asking the only question that matters.”
A long silence followed.
Then my father spoke one final sentence.
“Hannah, ask your mother what happened the night you were born.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the machine.
Robert slowly sat beside me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But part of me already understood.
My mother had never shown me photographs from the day I was born.
She claimed the camera had broken.
My birth certificate had been replaced when I was twelve.
She said the original had been lost.
And whenever anyone commented that Chloe looked exactly like both our parents, Mom would change the subject.
I looked back at the will.
Emily Brooks.
Three million dollars.
A secret that began the night I was born.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Hannah,” she said immediately. “You need to come home.”
“I am home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t.”
Her voice hardened.
“Whatever Thomas left in that storage unit, it does not belong to you.”
I stared at the open safe.
“How did you know I was here?”
Silence.
Then I heard another voice in the background.
A woman crying.
Not Chloe.
Someone older.
My mother lowered her voice.
“You opened the second will, didn’t you?”
“Who is Emily?”
The crying stopped.
My mother’s breathing changed.
Then she said:
“Emily Brooks is dead.”
Before I could respond, another woman screamed in the background.
May you like
“I am not dead, Margaret!”
The call disconnected.
