He knew before he died.
He left me a letter, bank records, and a recording.
He left me everything I need.”
Gerald’s hand tightened on the door frame.
“Eleanor, you don’t want to do this.
We’re family.
We can work something out—”
“There’s nothing to work out.
You’re going to pay back every dollar.
Or I’m going to the police.”
“You’d ruin this family over money?”
“You ruined this family when you stole from a dying man.”
Gerald stared at me.
His mouth opened, then closed.
Then he said, very quietly, “Thomas was going to die anyway.
The money wasn’t going to help him.”
I stepped back.
He didn’t look away.
He didn’t flinch.
He had simply believed he would never be caught, and he was telling me that to my face.
“I’m going to the bank tomorrow morning,” I said.
“And then I’m going to a lawyer.
You have until the end of the week to decide how this ends.”
I turned and walked back to my car.
I could hear Gerald still standing in the doorway.
I didn’t look back.
The next morning, I went to First National Bank, branch 447.
I gave them the key and my ID.
The manager, a woman named Patricia, walked me to the back.
“Mrs.
Harmon?” she asked, checking her screen.
“Yes.
Thomas Harmon.”
“Mr.
Harmon opened this box six months ago.
He said someone would come for it.”
She opened the box.
Inside was a thick manila envelope.
I took it to a small private room and opened it.
Bank records.
Transfer authorizations.
Copies of every forged signature.
A notarized statement confirming the destination account belonged to Gerald Mills.
And a letter from a forensic handwriting analyst confirming the signatures did not match mine.
Thomas had been thorough.
He had known I would need proof that no one could argue with.
I took everything to a lawyer that afternoon.
Her name was Grace Nguyen.
She looked through the documents for twenty minutes without speaking.
“This is a strong case,” she said finally.
