Across from us, Mr. Holloway arranges a neat stack of documents he’s going through one by one and sorting into a particular order.
Finally, he looks up at me. “You’ve met every requirement of the will,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Independent living, good-faith effort, and clear evidence that you acted in your own interest rather than under coercion. Frankly, Ms. Mullins, most beneficiaries don’t have to prove nearly this much.”
I nod, a little bewildered by why she had so many rules. “I don’t understand why there were so many milestones to meet.”
Mr. Holloway offers a faint but understanding smile. “Mrs. Elliot anticipated resistance from the household. That much is clear in her language. She wanted protection for you, not only financially, but legally. And this was the best way she could figure out to make that happen.”
He slides a copy of the will towards me, the pages thick and crisp, her name printed cleanly at the top. Seeing it again still makes my chest tighten.
“I’d rather have her back than all her worldly possessions.”
Bear leans closer, his voice pitched only for me. “She’d be proud of you, Nat. You did what she couldn’t, and you got justice for her death.”
The words land softly but firmly, and for a moment I have to look down so he doesn’t see my eyes shine. I think of Granny Ellie in that house, frail but fierce in her quiet way, fighting in the only way she could. It’s humbling that she thought enough of me to make her only heir, rather than her flesh and blood children.
Mr. Holloway clears his throat gently and continues. “As you may know, Mrs. Elliot came into a separate inheritance later in life. Those funds were never part of her sons’ finances.”
I press my lips together, emotion knotting in my throat. “I remember the extra socks in winter, the surprise field trips and all the small kindnesses that felt like miracles when I was a kid. Of course, I now realize they weren’t miracles. They were her, doing her best to take care of us.”
Mr. Holloway pushes his glasses up onto his nose before continuing, “The total estate is not vast,” he says politely. “But it is substantial enough to purchase a home, establish stability, and provide you with financial breathing room. It also includes some property.”
Bear’s hand settles over mine on the table. His grip is steady, grounding.
I raise my eyebrows at that.
Mr. Holloway slides another document across. “Here is the deed to the church. Over the years her sons tried to get her to sign that over to them, but she refused. The will expressly gives you discretion to sell it if you feel the property holds more bad memories than you wish to deal with. Mrs. Elliot wrote that line herself.”
I don’t even hesitate. “I’ll sell it. Why would I want a church? The place holds nothing but bad memories.”
Glancing at him, I say, “I want to live in Las Salinas, not Sacramento. I have family in Las Salinas.”
He nods, unsurprised. “Additionally, the remaining funds have been held in escrow since her passing. I’m transferring control to you effective today.”
He gives me a large envelope with the account information inside.
Mr. Holloway folds his hands. “As for your former foster family, the situation is… settled for now. Your foster parents remain under investigation, and the brother faces serious charges. His counsel has attempted to challenge the admissibility of the evidence you gathered, claiming unlawful access.”
I tense instinctively, but Bear wraps his arm around my back in a supportive gesture.
“The prosecuting attorney was clear,” Holloway continues. “You were a legal resident of the home at the time. You were entitled to access common areas and to report wrongdoing. Your actions fall well within the bounds of whistleblower protections.”
I give a sigh of relief.
Bear lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Nice try on their part.”
Mr. Holloway gives us a faint smile. “Unsuccessful, fortunately. Suffice to say, none of them are likely to get out of jail anytime soon.”
The tightness I’ve been carrying around in my chest loosens. For the first time in a long while, the future feels safe instead of frightening.
Bear squeezes my hand beneath the table. “Are you ready to get on with your new life?” he asks quietly.
Looking at his handsome face, I imagine spending that new life with him and our child. Hope blooms in my chest where the tightness and fear used to be.
I grab his hand with both of mine and nod enthusiastically. “Yes,” I say. “I’m more than ready.”
Chapter 19
Bear
