PART 2
For three days, I contacted every family I had worked for before joining the Whitaker household. Most didn’t remember me. Two politely explained that they had no vacancies. By the third night, I sat at the kitchen table without touching my dinner. Danny had gone to bed early, sensing the anxiety I was trying to hide. The photo caught the last light of sunset, reminding me of the afternoon Mr. Whitaker had left it in my hands.
“Keep this, Marta, so you always remember this house.”
The phone rang. I let it ring three times before answering.
“Hello;”
“Is this Martha?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Nathaniel. I represented Mr. Whitaker. Before I continue, please be seated.”
I sat on a chair and looked at the photo.
“Mr. Whitaker changed his will four months before his death. He left you his entire estate—the mansion, the surrounding land, and a trust for your grandson’s education.”
“That can’t be right. Julian said the property belonged to him.”
“Julian was disinherited. His father recorded years of neglect and financial pressure. The signed documents are in my office.”
My hand gripped the edge of the table. As Nathaniel continued to explain, I lifted the frame and ran my thumb along its wooden base. One corner was loose. After the phone call, I turned it over and picked up the cardboard. A folded letter slid across the table. My name was written on it in Mr. Whitaker’s shaky handwriting.
“Oh, sir. What did you do?”
I read the letter three times before I pressed it to my chest and cried. Nathaniel had told the truth. Mr. Whitaker had planned it all carefully. That same evening, someone knocked on our apartment door. Julian was standing in the hallway wearing an expensive coat that looked absurd against the peeling wallpaper.
“We need to talk.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“My father’s lawyer contacted me. Apparently, there is confusion regarding the estate.”
“He contacted me too. He didn’t sound confused.”
Julian’s expression hardened.
“I’m ready to be generous. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if you sign a waiver today.”
The old version of me might have accepted the money out of fear and gratitude. But the words in Mr. Whitaker’s letter had changed something inside me.
“No.”
“Excuse me;”
“Your father’s wishes were clear. I will not sign anything.”
“You’re a housekeeper. My lawyers can keep you in court for years. You’ll spend every cent of yours before this gets to a judge.”
“Then I’ll spend it.”
Julian moved closer.
“You have no idea who you’re challenging.”
“I knew your father for eighteen years. I cooked for him when he was sick and sat by his side when he was scared. Where have you been?”
“This is none of your business.”
“It was his work and he recorded it.”
Uncertainty crossed Julian’s face before he hid it.
“Fifteen thousand. Final offer.”
“I want a formal meeting at Nathaniel’s office. Bring all the lawyers you have.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe. But I’ll regret it standing up.”
After he left, my legs finally started to shake. The next morning, I would go into Nathaniel’s office, but I wouldn’t go in alone. I would carry Mr. Whitaker’s letter with me.
