Chapter 4 - THE CAMERA IN WESLEY’S OFFICEThree days later, I finally returned to Hawthorne Ridge.
Redwood had agreed not to alter the property while the title dispute was pending.
A court order followed.
Nobody demolished anything.
Nobody excavated anything.
And nobody was permitted to access the underground chamber except the heritage trust and approved investigators.
The front door looked exactly the way I remembered it.
That hurt more than I expected.
Grief is strange.
You can survive the funeral.
You can survive identifying your husband’s watch at the hospital.
You can survive three months of waking up alone.
Then one afternoon, you see a pair of muddy gardening shoes beside a door and collapse because nobody remembered to throw them away.
Wesley’s shoes were still there.
I sat on the entryway bench and cried for twenty minutes.
Not because of Dad.
Not because of Camille.
Not even because of the house.
Because for one stupid second, the shoes made it feel as if Wesley might walk downstairs.
When I finally stood, I went to his office.
Everything had been disturbed.
Desk drawers open.
Cabinets searched.
Papers shifted.
Someone had gone looking for something.
I called Helen.
“Did Redwood search the house?”
“No. They never took physical possession. Why?”
“Someone searched Wesley’s office.”
“Don’t touch anything.”
I photographed the room.
Then I noticed the bronze model airplane on the bookshelf.
It faced the wrong direction.
Wesley had been obsessive about that plane.
His grandfather gave it to him when he graduated from college.
Its nose always pointed toward the window.
Now it pointed toward the door.
I lifted it carefully.
Underneath was a small black memory card.
My heart began hammering.
Wesley had installed security cameras after someone vandalized the heritage marker near the rear property line.
Most were obvious.
One wasn’t.
He had mounted a tiny camera inside his office bookshelf.
I knew because I had teased him about becoming paranoid.
The memory card contained archived clips.
Most were useless.
Wesley working.
Phone calls without audio.
Me bringing him coffee.
Then I found footage from five weeks before he died.
My father entered Wesley’s office.
Wesley was sitting behind the desk.
The audio began.
Dad’s voice came first.
“You’re being selfish.”
Wesley leaned back.
“With what?”
“The property.”
“It’s our home.”
“It’s twelve acres you barely use.”
“You mean Camille wants money.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“She wants security.”
“Then she should build it.”
“She’s family.”
“So is Scarlett.”
Dad walked toward the desk.
“You’ve turned her against us.”
Wesley laughed quietly.
“Curtis, your daughter doesn’t need help forming opinions.”
“You think because you made money you can judge us?”
“No.”
Wesley’s voice became colder.
“I judge you because every time Scarlett has something Camille wants, you try to convince Scarlett she should feel guilty for having it.”
I stopped breathing.
Dad paced.
“Camille and Brent found land. They could build something beautiful. I’m asking whether you’d consider selling part of the acreage.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I thought about it months ago when you first asked.”
Dad froze.
Apparently he hadn’t expected Wesley to reveal that.
Wesley continued.
“You’ve asked me three times. The answer is still no.”
“Scarlett would agree.”
“Then ask Scarlett.”
Dad looked toward the door.
“I don’t want to upset her.”
Wesley stared at him.
“No. You don’t want her to say no.”
For the first time since Wesley’s death, I heard his laugh.
Soft.
Dry.
Familiar.
It almost broke me.
Then Dad said something that made my skin cold.
“You understand if something happened to you, she wouldn’t know how to manage this place.”
Wesley stopped smiling.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m making a point.”
“Make a different one.”
Dad adjusted his jacket.
“You’ve built everything so complicated. Trusts. Restrictions. Companies. Scarlett doesn’t understand half of it.”
“She understands more than you think.”
“If she ever needed help, I would manage things.”
“No.”
Dad turned.
Wesley stood.
“You will never control Scarlett’s assets.”
There was silence.
Then Wesley opened a drawer and removed a folder.
“I changed my estate plan last month.”
Dad stared at him.
“If I die, Hawthorne Ridge passes directly to Scarlett. Not through family. Not through you. There is no executor discretion. There is no shared ownership.”
“You think I care about your money?”
“I think you care about control.”
Dad walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
“You won’t always be here to protect her.”
Wesley looked directly at him.
“No.”
Then he said the words that made me start crying again.
“But I can leave her the tools to protect herself.”
The video ended.
I sat alone in his office.
For several minutes, I couldn’t move.
Then another file caught my attention.
Recorded two weeks later.
This time Camille entered the office.
She was smiling.
Wesley wasn’t.
“I’m not lending you $400,000,” he said.
“It isn’t a loan.”
“That makes it worse.”
Camille crossed her arms.
“Scarlett said you have more money than you know what to do with.”
Wesley frowned.
“Scarlett said that?”
Camille looked away.
He immediately understood.
“No, she didn’t.”
“She doesn’t need everything.”
“Neither do you.”
Camille’s expression changed.
“You think you’re better than this family.”
“No.”
“You’ve poisoned her.”
“Camille, leave.”
She stepped closer.
“When you’re gone, things will be different.”
Wesley became still.
“Excuse me?”
She smiled.
“You heard me.”
Then she walked out.
Wesley remained motionless for nearly thirty seconds.
Afterward he picked up his phone.
The recording stopped.
I sent both files to Helen.
Ten minutes later, she called.
“Scarlett.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know who Wesley called after Camille left?”
“No.”
“We should find out.”
We did.
Phone records showed Wesley called his estate attorney for twenty-three minutes.
The following morning, he signed an amendment.
Helen obtained a copy.
It contained a clause nobody in my family knew existed.
If anyone attempted to obtain Hawthorne Ridge through fraud, coercion or an unauthorized transfer after Wesley’s death, a separate litigation trust would activate automatically.
Wesley had funded it with $750,000.
Money specifically reserved to defend my ownership.
May you like
My dead husband had anticipated my family.
And he had prepared for them.
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