Chapter 11 - HOLLY'S LAST SECRET
Holly came to me before I called her.
Smart.
She sat in Daniel's conference room with a folder on her lap.
“I knew about the Charlottesville property.”
There it was.
“How much?”
“Not the trust. Not the forged sale. But I knew James wanted to develop land connected to your family.”
“When?”
“Before your mother died.”
My chest tightened.
“Were you sleeping with him then?”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
At least that.
“Did my mother know about you?”
Holly looked down.
“I think so.”
Mom definitely did.
The recording proved it.
“What else?”
Holly opened the folder.
Architectural renderings.
Luxury houses.
Retail center.
Private club.
No cancer center.
“This was James's original concept.”
Her company had done preliminary design.
That explained the $18,500 invoice partially.
Except the estate payment happened after Mom's death and without authorization.
“Did you know he used estate money?”
“No.”
“I believe that.”
She seemed surprised.
“I don't forgive the rest.”
“I know.”
She continued.
James told her I intended to sell the land.
Told her our marriage was effectively over.
Classic.
But then Holly made a choice of her own.
She reviewed county records.
Found no sale authorization.
Started asking questions.
James became angry.
“That was when I realized he was lying to both of us.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Three months.
She stayed with him anyway.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because Caleb was involved.”
Her brother.
James threatened to expose Caleb's loan misconduct if Holly left or interfered.
So she stayed close and began copying emails.
Finally, someone in this story had learned from my mother.
She handed Daniel a drive.
Messages between James and Stephen.
Between James and Caleb.
Between James and Miles.
One email was different.
James to unknown address:
If E won't sign, we move to Phase Two after the oncology anniversary.
I frowned.
“What is Phase Two?”
Holly didn't know.
Investigators traced the email.
Recipient account belonged to a private investigator named Grant Lewis.
Grant had been hired to follow me.
For six months.
Photos.
Grocery store.
Daniel's office.
Mom's grave.
Even my therapist's building.
Not inside.
But enough.
Phase Two apparently involved gathering evidence that I was emotionally unstable.
The same incapacity plan.
Then we found a memo from Grant.
Subject exhibits prolonged grief behavior, frequent cemetery visits, therapy attendance, social withdrawal.
Normal grief weaponized again.
But one line stood out.
Subject routinely meets unidentified male at St. Catherine's parking lot.
I stared.
“What male?”
Daniel frowned.
“Did you meet someone?”
Then I remembered.
Father Michael.
Mom's old parish priest.
I met him three times after her death because she had left church documents with him.
Nothing romantic.
Nothing secret.
Grant had photographed us from a distance.
James planned to present those meetings as evidence of an affair.
If I filed for divorce or challenged the trust, he would claim I had a lover and unstable motives.
Layer after layer.
Then Father Michael called me.
Strange timing.
“Eleanor, I heard about James.”
News had already spread.
He said:
“Your mother left something here. She told me to give it to you only if your marriage ended.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“A letter.”
“For me?”
“No.”
May you like
He paused.
“For your father.”
