Chapter 12 - My mother’s letter
My parents had purchased the Brookline house thirty years earlier.
After my father died, Mom transferred it to me.
Simple.
Or so I believed.
The letter revealed another arrangement.
My mother had borrowed money from Victor before our marriage to pay medical debts after Dad’s death.
Victor later claimed that loan gave him an equitable interest in the house.
I had never known.
Was it legitimate?
Partially.
Old banking records showed Victor had lent Mom $180,000.
But the loan had been repaid.
Fully.
Nine months before our wedding.
Why keep the letter?
Because Mom had written:
Victor wants me to leave the Brookline house partially in his name when Sarah marries him. I told him no. Something about the way he asked frightened me.
My mother had seen something twenty-two years earlier.
I had mistaken his obsession with the house for practicality.
He had always wanted it.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because it was worth millions now.
Location.
Land.
Development potential.
Helen found that Victor had attempted to persuade city planners to allow subdivision of the rear lot.
If successful, the property could be worth far more.
The house promise to Rita was never just romance.
It was a business asset dressed as love.
Then another old document surfaced.
A prenuptial draft.
Victor and I never signed one.
But he had prepared it secretly before our wedding.
Its terms treated my house as separate property.
Meaning even he had acknowledged it belonged solely to me.
That document destroyed his later ownership argument.
The fire investigation progressed too.
Dr. West admitted entering the house.
He denied intentionally starting the fire.
He said he used the fireplace to burn copied medical records after Kline warned him investigators might search.
An ember escaped.
Curtains ignited.
If true, reckless.
Potentially criminal.
But not planned arson.
Kline disputed parts of the story.
Courts would sort that out.
I stopped needing every answer immediately.
My cancer mattered more.
The surgeon believed partial nephrectomy could remove the tumor while preserving enough kidney function.
Risky.
But possible.
Surgery scheduled.
Then Lucas asked to meet me.
I almost refused.
What could a seventeen-year-old boy say about a marriage that existed before he did?
Still, I agreed.
He arrived without Victor.
Without Rita.
Tall.
Nervous.
He looked at me and immediately said:
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For existing.”
My heart broke.
“No.”
I pointed to the chair.
“Sit down.”
“Victor made choices. Your mother made choices. I made choices.”
I looked directly at him.
“You are not one of the choices anyone gets to blame.”
He started crying.
Then handed me an envelope.
“My dad told me to destroy this if anything happened to him.”
“What is it?”
“I opened it.”
His hands shook.
“I think you need to see it.”
Inside was a second life-insurance policy.
Not on me.
On Lucas.
May you like
Beneficiary:
Victor Vance.
