Chapter 6: What Gerald Foss Had Kept
Gerald Foss was seventy-four years old and had been Robert's attorney for thirty-one years.
He arrived at Mercy General at eight-fifteen that evening carrying a leather briefcase and the particular gravity of a man who has been waiting a long time to do something he knew was right.
He found me in the family waiting room with Dora.
He shook my hand with both of his.
"Margaret.
I'm deeply sorry about the children.
Robert would have been —" He stopped.
Pressed his lips together.
"He would have been furious."
"Sit down, Gerald."
He did.
He opened the briefcase on the low table between us and laid out three documents.
"The first," he said, "is the loan acknowledgment Nathan signed.
His signature, notarized, confirming the $340,000 debt to Robert personally and his agreement that any claim to the estate would be reduced by that amount plus interest upon Robert's death."
I looked at Nathan's signature.
His handwriting hadn't changed since he was a teenager — large, slightly tilted, the N looping back on itself.
"The second is a statutory declaration Robert filed fourteen months ago, two weeks before he passed.
In it, he formally documents the forgery of his signature on the original loan documents and states that he chose not to pursue crjminal charges at that time in order to protect the family." Gerald's voice was steady.
"He was protecting you, Margaret.
He thought if Nathan faced charges, it would destroy you."
"It might have," I said.
"The third document is a copy of your current will, which Robert and I drafted together.
It leaves the house and estate to you absolutely, with a trust established for Sophie and Ben upon your death — bypassing Nathan entirely." He looked at me over his glasses.
"Nathan has known about this will for eight months.
He has known he receives nothing."
Dora made a small sound beside me.
"That's why he needed the deed," I said.
"If he could get you to transfer the house to a joint tenancy before you d*ed, the will wouldn't control the house.
It would pass to him automatically." Gerald folded his hands.
"He came close.
You held him off long enough."
I thought about that kitchen table.
Two hours.
The pen he kept pushing toward me.
"Gerald, he said the chocolates weren't from him."
"The police will determine that.
But I can tell you this — I received a call from a forensic accountant this afternoon who has been working with the district attorney's office on a separate matter.
Nathan's name appeared in a financial investigation eight weeks ago.
He has significant debts beyond the original loan.
His medical practice has been running at a loss for two years." Gerald paused.
"A man with nothing left to lose is a dangerous thing."
"He said I should have just eaten them." My voice didn't break.
I was surprised by that.
"He said it to my face."
Gerald was quiet for a moment.
"Then the police have everything they need," he said.
My phone buzzed on the table.
A text from an unknown number — different from Lena Marsh's call, a different area code.
*You don't know who helped him.
Ask Emily where she was the night before your birthday.*
I turned the phone so Gerald could read it.
He reached into his briefcase and produced a small evidence bag.
"Put it in here.
Don't delete it."
I dropped the phone in.
Dora and I looked at each other.
May you like
"Emily," Dora said quietly.
"Emily," I said.
