At My Brother’s Funeral, His Lawyer Pulled Me Aside: “He Left You This. Don’t Let Her See It”…
The Accusation
Martin opened a folder. “I’ll get straight to it. Thomas Pearson’s will is being contested. Christine has filed a claim that Thomas was not of sound mind when he made his most recent changes, and that undue influence was exerted.”
“That’s insane,” I said. “Tommy was perfectly healthy. Sharp as ever. He updated his will because he wanted to be organized; he always was.”
“And furthermore,” Martin continued, his voice strained, “Christine is claiming that as Marcus’ legal representative, she should receive direct control of any inheritance due to him, citing concerns about family business complications and Marcus’ current mental health struggles.”
The room tilted. “What mental health struggles? My son is fine.”
Christine spoke for the first time. Her voice was smooth—too smooth. “Richard, we didn’t want to worry you. Marcus has been seeing a therapist for depression and anxiety. It’s been quite severe. I’ve been managing our finances because he’s not in a state to make major decisions right now.”
This was a lie. It had to be. I had just seen Marcus a week ago. We’d talked for hours. He was grieving, yes, but he was stable. Functional.
“I want to speak to my son,” I said.
“He’s not taking calls right now,” Christine said. “Doctor’s orders. He needs space from stressful family situations.”
I looked at Martin. “Is this legal? Can she do this?”
Martin’s jaw was tight. “If she has power of attorney, and if there’s medical documentation, then yes, temporarily. But Mr. Pearson, there’s something else you should know. I need to speak with you privately.”
Christine stood up. “Whatever you need to say to Richard, you can say in front of me. I’m family.”
“No,” Martin said firmly. “This concerns something Thomas specifically instructed me to share with Richard alone. You’ll need to wait outside, Mrs. Pearson. For just a second.”
Christine’s mask slipped. I saw anger flash across her face, cold and sharp. Then the smile returned. “Of course. I understand.”
Voice from the Grave
She left the room, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Martin waited until the door closed, then he walked to a cabinet and pulled out a large envelope—the kind for documents. It was sealed with Tommy’s signature across the flap.
“Your brother came to see me five months ago,” Martin said quietly. “Not six months when he updated the will. Five. He came alone. Didn’t make an appointment, just walked in.”
He looked worried, said he needed to tell someone something officially in case anything happened to him. My throat was tight. “What did he say?”
“He said he was concerned about Christine. That he’d overheard a conversation between her and a man he didn’t recognize at Marcus’s birthday party last April. They were in the garage. Didn’t know Tommy was in the backyard having a smoke.”
“He said Christine was talking about money. About waiting. About how ‘the old men’ can’t live forever and how she’d worked too hard on this to back out now.”
The room went cold. Tommy didn’t know what it meant, Martin continued, but it bothered him enough that he came to me. He said if anything happened to him—anything at all that seemed even slightly suspicious—I was to give you this envelope and tell you to be careful.
He said Christine was smart. Too smart. And that he thought she married Marcus for reasons that had nothing to do with love.
I took the envelope with shaking hands. “What’s in here?”
“I don’t know. He sealed it in front of me. Made me promise to only give it to you if he died, and only if you were alone.”
Martin leaned forward. “Richard, I knew your brother for 20 years. He was the most rational, level-headed man I ever met. He wasn’t paranoid. He wasn’t dramatic. If he was worried enough to do this, then something is very, very wrong.”
The Widow’s Web
I opened the envelope. Inside was a flash drive, a handwritten letter, and a stack of printed documents: bank statements, email printouts, photos.
Tommy’s letter was dated five months ago, his handwriting clear and steady. “Richie,” it began. Only Tommy ever called me Richie. “If you’re reading this, I’m gone. And I need you to be smarter than I was. I need you to see what I should have seen years ago.”
“Christine is not who she pretends to be. I’ve been watching her for the past year, since that conversation I overheard. I started paying attention. Really paying attention.”
“She’s been systematically isolating Marcus from everyone. Slowly. Carefully. You probably didn’t notice because she’s subtle. But think about it: When was the last time Marcus came to Sunday dinner alone? When was the last time he called you just to talk without Christine on the line? When was the last time he saw his cousins, his friends from university? She’s cut him off, piece by piece.”
“I hired a private investigator. His report is in this envelope. Christine’s real name is Christine Holloway, but she’s used three other names.”
“She’s been married twice before. Both husbands were older men with money. Both died within 10 years of marriage. One from a medication error, one from a fall down the stairs. Both left everything to her.”
“She’s a con artist, Richie. A very good one. And she’s got her hooks in our Marcus.”
A Deadly Pattern
“The flash drive contains recordings. I put audio recorders in my own house after I became suspicious. You’ll hear her talking to someone on the phone. Planning. Calculating. Talking about me like I’m already dead. Talking about you like you’re next.”
“I don’t know what to do with this information. I can’t go to Marcus; he’s so in love with her, he won’t believe me. I tried once to gently suggest he be careful; he got defensive, said I was being paranoid in my old age. So I’m leaving this for you, because you’re stronger than me. You’ve always been the strong one.”
“If something happens to me, anything that seems even slightly off, you need to investigate. You need to protect Marcus. And you need to protect yourself.”
“She’s dangerous, Richie. I don’t know her endgame, but I know she’s playing a long con, and we’re all marks. I’ve changed my will to make it harder for her to get anything directly, but she’s smart. She’ll find a way to contest it, to manipulate it. Watch her carefully. And please, please be careful. I don’t want to lose you too. Love, Tommy.”
My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the letter. I looked at Martin. “When did my brother die?”
“February 3rd.”
“Why? How exactly did he die? I know it was a heart attack, but what caused it?”
Martin pulled out another file. “The coroner’s report said massive cardiac arrest. But Richard, there was something unusual. There were traces of a medication in his system. Digitalis.”
“It’s a heart medication, but in high doses, it can cause cardiac arrest. Tommy didn’t take heart medication.”
“I know. The coroner noted it but ruled it as possibly something he took without prescription or a contamination. The death was ruled natural because Tommy had some arterial blockage. It was plausible he’d had a heart attack. But not certain.”
Not certain.
