At her funeral, I stood in a borrowed black coat, feeling empty and unsure of what came next.
That was when Mr. Charleston walked toward me across the wet grass. He was Gloria’s lawyer, and in his hands was the old canvas bag she had never allowed anyone else to touch.
After introducing himself, he placed the bag in my arms.
It felt heavier than it should have.
“She chose you for a reason,” Mr. Charleston said softly.
Then he reached into a folder.
“There is a letter inside the bag, Daniel. She wanted you to read it before anything else happens. Before you make any decisions. She expected…”
Before he could finish, a man in a gray suit stepped in front of us as though he owned the cemetery.
He was around fifty, with thinning hair and a tight jaw.
I had never seen him before.
But I knew who he was the moment he spoke.
“You must be Daniel,” he said. “I’m Marcus. Gloria’s nephew.”
I nodded slowly. “She mentioned you.”
“I’m sure she did.” He looked me over with disgust. “A young orderly marries my eighty-two-year-old aunt three days before she dies. You understand how that looks, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It never is.”
Mr. Charleston cleared his throat, but Marcus kept going.
“I’ll be contesting everything,” Marcus said. “The marriage, the will, all of it. My lawyer is already preparing the paperwork. You took advantage of a vulnerable old woman, and I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
