Martin Ellis answered on the fourth ring.
Dad put the call on speaker, explained what Vanessa had said that morning, and described Harold's account of the previous night's visit. He didn't exaggerate or speculate. He gave the facts in the same measured tone he used when discussing repairs to his truck.
Martin listened without interrupting.
When Dad finished, the attorney asked him to confirm the time of Vanessa's call and whether the conversation had been recorded. Dad said he had no recording, but Harold was willing to explain what had happened in person.
"That's useful," Martin said. "For now, don't confront either of them. Don't remove anything from the house, and don't sign anything they bring you. I'll review your documents and determine what needs to be protected."
Dad agreed.
Then Martin asked a question that made him sit straighter.
"Frank, do you still have the old will in your office?"
"Yes. I believe it's in the locked cabinet."
"Do you know whether Vanessa has seen it?"
Dad looked at me.
"I can't say for certain."
Martin paused.
"Then we need to establish exactly which documents she has been discussing. The old will may have been replaced years ago, but if someone is relying on an outdated copy, we need to know that before this goes any further."
Dad promised to meet Martin that afternoon. Before ending the call, the attorney reminded him not to make decisions out of anger.
"I understand," Dad replied.
After the call ended, I asked whether he thought Vanessa had found the old will.
"It's possible," he said. "She may have seen it during one of her visits. But she would have to ignore the date to believe it was current."
"Or she knew it wasn't current."
Dad didn't answer.
We drove back to his house shortly after lunch. He insisted on driving his own truck, while I followed in my car. The roads were damp from melting frost, and the bare trees along the highway cast thin shadows across the pavement.
When we reached his street, I noticed a dark sedan parked near the end of the driveway. I recognized it as Grant's car.
Dad stopped the truck but didn't get out immediately.
"They weren't supposed to come here," I said.
"No."
He looked at the house, then at the sedan.
"Stay with me."
We walked toward the front door together. The key turned easily in the lock. No one had changed it yet, despite Vanessa's promise that the locks would be replaced that morning.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of furniture polish and the cedar blocks Dad kept in the hall closet. Everything looked normal at first. His coat hung beside the door. The clock on the mantel ticked steadily. A newspaper lay folded on the side table.
Then I noticed the study door.
It stood open.
Dad always kept that door closed when he wasn't using the room. The desk drawers were shut, but a stack of folders sat on the carpet beside the filing cabinet. Several envelopes had been opened and placed in a neat pile.
Dad walked into the study without speaking.
I followed him.
The locked cabinet stood against the wall beneath a framed photograph of my parents on their wedding day. Its door was closed, but the small brass keyhole had fresh scratches around it.
Dad crouched to inspect the lock.
"Someone tried to open this," he said.
"Could it have been Grant?"
"I don't know."
He stood and examined the desk. A drawer containing old receipts had been pulled out slightly. The top folder was missing.
I asked what had been inside it.
"Property records, mostly. Copies of deeds, insurance documents, and some old estate paperwork."
"Was the will in there?"
"No. The will is in the cabinet."
He looked toward the door.
"Unless someone has a copy."
The thought made me uneasy. If Vanessa had obtained an old will, she might have convinced herself that it gave her everything. But that didn't explain the false death announcement or Harold's account.
Dad picked up one of the loose papers. It was a photocopy of an old document, dated several years earlier. The page included his name, a list of assets, and the beginning of a section describing how his property would be distributed.
He read it, then set it down.
"This isn't the current version."
"How can you tell?"
"The date. And the signature on the last page isn't mine."
I looked closer. The signature was blurry, but something about the angle of the letters seemed wrong.
"Could it be a bad photocopy?"
"Possibly. I want Martin to examine it."
Dad gathered the papers into a folder without disturbing anything else. He took photographs of the cabinet lock, the desk, and the documents before placing the folder on the table.
Then he called Harold.
His friend arrived twenty minutes later, carrying a thick winter coat over one arm. He greeted Dad with a firm handshake, then looked at me with an expression of genuine concern.
"I wish I had told you everything sooner," Harold said.
"You told me what mattered when you knew it mattered," Dad replied. "Let's not waste time blaming ourselves."
Harold explained that Vanessa had visited him the previous evening shortly after dinner. She had seemed agitated, repeatedly checking her phone and asking whether he still kept records from his years at the funeral home.
At first, he assumed she wanted advice about an elderly relative or a neighbor who had become ill. Then she told him Dad had died.
Harold asked how she knew.
She said Grant had spoken with someone who had been at the house. She couldn't identify the person or explain exactly when the death had occurred. Instead, she began asking whether Harold would be willing to confirm that he had discovered Dad.
"I told her I wasn't going to make up a death certificate or lie to the family," Harold said. "She became angry and accused me of caring more about rules than about her."
Dad listened with his arms folded.
"Did she mention the will?"
"Yes. She said she and Grant needed to get the property transferred before anyone questioned the arrangements."
"Did she say how she planned to do that?"
Harold shook his head.
"She didn't give me the details. But she seemed convinced that everything would be easier if people believed you were already gone."
The room fell silent.
Dad asked Harold whether he had seen any documents. Harold said Vanessa had shown him a photocopied page, but he hadn't read it carefully. He remembered seeing Dad's name near the top and a paragraph about the house.
That was all.
Dad thanked him and said Martin would probably want to speak with him. Harold agreed without hesitation.
We left the house together a short time later and drove to Martin's office.
The attorney's receptionist recognized Dad and led us into a conference room. Martin arrived carrying a leather folder and a yellow legal pad. He greeted us, asked Dad to recount the events, and studied the photographs from the study.
When Dad showed him the photocopied document, Martin's expression became serious.
"Where did this come from?"
"We found it in the study," Dad said. "It may have been among the papers Vanessa was looking at."
Martin examined the page carefully.
"This appears to be a copy of an older estate document," he said. "But I can't confirm its authenticity from this page alone. I need to compare it with the records in my file."
He asked Dad for permission to retrieve the current estate documents and verify the dates and signatures. Dad agreed.
Martin then turned to me.
"Natalie, did your sister tell you that she and Grant had already contacted the bank?"
"Yes. She said they were going through Dad's office and arranging to have the truck evaluated."
"Did she tell you which bank?"
"No."
Martin wrote something on his pad.
"Then we should verify whether anyone has actually contacted the bank and, if so, what they claimed. We should also make sure no one has been given authority to act on your father's behalf without his knowledge."
Dad nodded.
For the next half hour, Martin reviewed the paperwork with us. He confirmed that Dad had met with him the previous afternoon and that the updated documents had been signed and witnessed. He would need to inspect the records more closely before discussing every detail, but one point was clear: the photocopied page did not establish that Vanessa and Grant owned the house.
Then Martin closed the folder.
"Frank, I need to ask you something directly. Did you ever promise Vanessa that she would inherit the house?"
Dad considered the question.
"I told her years ago that I wanted the house to remain in the family. I never promised it to her personally."
"Did you tell her you had changed your plans?"
"No."
Martin nodded slowly.
"That distinction may become important."
I asked whether Vanessa could legally claim the property based on the papers she had shown Harold.
"Not simply because she possesses a copy," Martin replied. "The actual documents, their validity, and the ownership records matter. We should avoid jumping to conclusions until I've completed the review."
He turned back to Dad.
"One more thing. If Vanessa has been telling people you're dead, we need to preserve the evidence. Write down the time of the call, the exact statements you remember, and the names of anyone who heard them. Harold should do the same about his conversation with her."
Dad agreed.
Martin explained that he would contact the relevant institutions through the proper channels and advise Dad about any further steps. He also recommended that Dad secure his office and avoid allowing anyone unsupervised access to his private records.
As we prepared to leave, Martin stopped Dad at the door.
"There is something else you should know," he said. "When you updated your estate plan yesterday, you asked me to make sure your wishes would be difficult to misrepresent. I did that. But if someone is already circulating an outdated document, we need to find out where it came from."
Dad looked at the photocopy in his hand.
"So do you think Vanessa forged it?"
"I don't know," Martin answered. "And until I know, I won't accuse her of doing so."
Outside, the afternoon air had grown colder. Dad tucked the folder beneath his arm and walked toward the truck.
I followed him, still thinking about the scratched cabinet lock, the missing folder, and Harold's account of Vanessa's visit.
Just before we reached the parking lot, Dad's phone rang.
It was Vanessa.
He looked at the screen for several seconds before answering.
"What is it?"
Her voice came through sharply.
"Dad, Grant and I are at your house. We need to talk about the documents."
Dad stopped walking.
"Why are you in my house?"
"We have a right to be here."
"On what basis?"
She hesitated.
Then she said, "Because we have the will."
Dad's face went pale—not with fear, but with the realization that the situation had just become more serious.
"Which will, Vanessa?"
"The one that leaves everything to us."
Dad looked at Martin, who had followed us outside.
"Don't move anything," Dad told her. "I'm coming back, and my attorney will be with me."
He ended the call.
Martin's expression had hardened.
"If she has the original document, we need to see it immediately."
Dad climbed into the truck, and I hurried toward my car.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, my phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar number.
There was no greeting, no explanation, and no name.
Only one sentence.
"Natalie, if you want to know why your sister is so desperate to get your father declared dead, ask her what happened to the document she signed last Friday."
I read it again, my hands tightening around the steering wheel.
I had no idea who had sent it.
But whoever they were, they knew something about Vanessa that neither Dad nor Martin had mentioned.
And they believed the signature on that missing document mattered more than the will itself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: An Anonymous Message Led Natalie to a Missing Document, and Dad’s Attorney Realized Someone Had Been Preparing This Deception for Days
My Sister Announced Our Father’s Death While He Sat Across From Me, and Her Next Words Revealed What She Really Wanted
Part 4 of 20
