Mr. Delgado nodded.
“Neither was Frank.”
The locked box was not about giving me more.
It was about giving me proof.
Frank had written one final instruction.
“Brad and Stephanie are going to believe I left you a third because you’re my wife.”
“Let them.”
“Then, when you’re ready, show them the box.”
“You do not owe them silence just because I chose it.”
They arrived at Mr. Delgado’s office two days later for the formal will reading.
Stephanie came carrying a notebook.
Brad brought his wife.
Neither looked at me.
When Mr. Delgado announced the equal three-way split, Stephanie’s head snapped up.
“Excuse me?”
Brad leaned forward.
“Dad left Patricia one-third of the property?”
“Yes.”
Stephanie laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Congratulations.”
She looked directly at me for the first time since the funeral.
“Eleven years finally paid off.”
Mr. Delgado said, “Stephanie—”
“No.”
I surprised myself.
“Let her finish.”
Stephanie looked almost pleased.
“I don’t have anything else to say.”
“Really? Because you’ve had plenty to say for 11 years.”
Brad sighed.
“Patricia, this isn’t the time.”
“No. Actually, this is exactly the time.”
I placed the metal box on the table.
Both of them frowned.
Stephanie asked, “What’s that?”
“Something your father left me.”
Her expression hardened.
“Of course he did.”
I opened it.
I started with the photograph.
Their parents were standing beside my mother.
Brad picked it up.
“Who’s that?”
“My mother.”
He looked at me.
