The silence in the attorney’s office was suffocating. Russell’s daughter, Victoria, smirked and crossed her arms, convinced that the modest wooden box meant I had been unceremoniously written out of the estate.
“Go ahead, open it,” his son sneered from the corner. “Let’s see what a gold digger’s payout looks like.”
My fingers trembled as I reached across the polished mahogany desk and unlatched the brass hook on the front of the box.
Inside lay a heavy set of brass keys, a faded photograph of the night we first met at the gala, and a small leather-bound notebook filled with Russell’s neat, distinctive handwriting.
Beneath the items was an official property deed stamp.
“Before we discuss the primary estate,” the lawyer said, his voice quiet and firm, “I am instructed to read the letter written on the first page of that notebook.”
What did Russell record in his final weeks? Continue reading Part 3 below to discover his true intention.
