Part two, obviously, of the first chapter. No warnings this time, unless you count lying and subterfuge.
Inheritance
Part Two
Harper, March & Fields wasn’t a law firm I’d ever heard of until a few months ago when I’d received a letter from them concerning my father’s will. It was strange that they’d waited until nine months after my 25th birthday to contact me — especially when the instructions had specifically stated alerting me on that day. Phyllis March wasn’t an entirely unpleasant woman to talk to, but she was fidgety and a little high strung. She always struck me as the type of person who didn’t like surprises. On that note, I could relate.
Traffic so early in the morning wasn’t too bad, but just as we got into downtown Chicago, everything came to a grinding halt. I looked at my watch, noting we had only been out about ten minutes, and we were only a few blocks away.
“We could walk,” I suggested to her, noticing how she was twirling her engagement ring around her finger and leaning closer to kiss her cheek. “We could always elope. It’s not like your mother and father don’t like me.”
She smiled, lifting her hand to the other side of my face. The brakes on the cab shrieked loudly, and we looked at each other before I peered over the seat at the meter and then pulled out my wallet.
“We’ll get out here,” I insisted, paying the man driving us and then opening the door to my left.
“Suit yourself,” he scoffed.
With that, we stepped out of the cab, hurrying to the sidewalk and then blending in with the people making their way to work.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” I commented, grasping onto her hand and glancing at her. “Why don’t you tell me what you were going to last night? Maybe it’s something I can help you with.”
She laughed softly, wrapping her hand around my arm. “I really want to wait until tonight,” she assured me. “I don’t think the night before you meet your father would have been an appropriate time. This is a little more important right now, and what I have to tell you can wait a little bit longer. It’s okay, Connor. It’s nothing so serious we need to have an in depth discussion about. I promise.”
I granted her this one thing, bowing my head as we walked through the crowds of people also moving toward their destinations.
On foot, we arrived at the high-rise complex within another ten minutes, and once we found out what floor the law firm was on, we got on the elevator as it filled with a few other people. Phoebe held onto me the entire time, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what she wanted to tell me. She kept playing with her engagement ring, and she always sounded so happy. I was happy just being with her. What more could I possibly want?
We were the next to last ones to get off the elevator, and I pulled Phoebe to the lobby where it set empty so early in the morning. The dark-haired woman behind the front desk lifted her eyes to us, and I stepped in front of her with Phoebe beside me.
“Good morning,” she said, grinning and allowing her eyes to light up at the sight of me. “How may I help you?”
I grasped onto Phoebe’s hand, and she wrapped her left hand around my arm, obviously wanting the woman to see her engagement ring. “I’m Connor Collins,” I announced. “Ms. March called and asked me to come in a little earlier than my appointment time. We weren’t supposed to be here until ten.”
“Of course,” she laughed softly, reaching for her phone. “Just have a seat.”
I pulled Phoebe to a sofa in the corner, and I looked at her curiously, sitting back to wait for whoever would come to get us.
“You’re acting . . . mysterious,” I commented, to which she blushed slightly. “And you’re never mysterious. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
She smiled, holding my hand a little tighter. “Nothing is wrong, Connor,” she insisted. “And I know being here to do this is a little more important than what I have to tell you. We’ll talk tonight after we get back to the apartment. And besides, you’ve been preparing yourself for this for a long time. You’re going to have me with you for the rest of your life.”
I leaned closer to her, allowing my lips to caress hers as I whispered. “Count on it,” I swore.
The secretary cleared her throat loudly then, and I turned my head to see Ms. March coming through the inner glass doors that led away from the lobby.
Ms. March’s frizzy red hair was pinned tightly into a bun at the base of her head, a few flyaways framing her freckled face, and her brown eyes were trained on me more intently than they ever had been since I’d met her a week ago. Usually, a few meetings aren’t enough for me to remember a person’s mannerisms or their appearance, but for some reason, I noticed she was nervous and rushed. I thought it was strange since she’d called me, and I knew I wasn’t late.
“Mr. Collins,” she greeted, reaching for my hand. “Thank you for coming in early. And who is this lovely woman with you?”
As we stood within listening distance from the secretary’s desk, I found an odd satisfaction in the way I announced Phoebe’s name and her place. “This is Phoebe Middleton. She’s my fiancé.”
Ms. March reached for her hand immediately. “So wonderful to meet you. Marcia,” she said to the secretary. “Hold all my calls.”
Marcia nodded, eyeing me with a glint in her pale blue eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
With that, Ms. March turned to the glass doors and opened them for us to follow us into the back offices.
The walk to the large office Ms. March occupied was hurried and silent. I grasped onto Phoebe’s hand the whole time, feeling the racing in my chest and attempting to keep my breathing even. It wasn’t easy. I was already anxious, and the brisk welcome was somewhat exasperating my anxiety. Ms. March was acting like a woman on a mission — in a frenzy to complete it regardless of how hasty she came off in the process.
She opened her office door, gesturing for us to sit down, and she followed, moving behind the desk as three sets of manila folders laid out over her desk planner.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I needed you to come in earlier than your appointment,” she commented. “There are a few more papers to sign, and documents for you to go over while we’re releasing your father’s possessions to you. First, I’ll give all the identification documents to you for your review and signature,” she announced, opening the first folder and then taking a pen from her desk. Without so much as a look up from her desk, she handed me the whole thing.
Overwhelmed, I was relieved to discover only a few sheets of paper inside, and I happily looked over everything, filling in all my information and then signing even though I realized copies of my driver’s license, social security card and birth certificate were all inside and notarized from the courthouse across the street. I remembered doing that, but for the slightest second, it stunned me that all of this was really happening. After I signed everything, she was going to hand me a bundle of letters and a pocket watch from my father. By the end of the day, I would be able to read everything he’d wanted me to know.
“Something wrong?” Phoebe asked, squeezing my arm gently.
Finished, I closed the folder and handed it back to Ms. March. “No,” I assured her.
“Now,” Ms. March said after half a minute, “we have release papers from the bank where the safety deposit box is being held, and we also have accountant slips from the bank for you to sign and close out your father’s account. It’s just a formality. They need something on record showing the contents inside were claimed and not stolen.”
She handed the second folder to me. This one was much thicker and contained documents with a lot of jargon I didn’t understand. I wasn’t an attorney, so I had no idea what a lot of it meant, but I’d shown the copies I’d been given to a friend who wasn’t Phoebe. He’d said it was all normal. I read and signed all of it, handing it back to her. She looked over everything, penning her own name as the overseeing attorney, and after she closed that folder, she opened the third.
“This is the original document your father had drawn up when he opened his estate with us,” she revealed to me, taking a letter from the last folder and handing it to me. “He wanted you to have the original, and we’ll keep the copies.”
I took the letter, reading my father’s name written in at the top and then his signature at the bottom. I realized he’d written in his own name before signing it at the bottom, and the middle was typed in an old typewriter. Why would he want me to have an original document from 1974? Wasn’t it useless now?
Ms. March waited almost a minute before speaking again.
“We also have release papers from the law firm for you to sign and close out your father’s estate since the items he left you will no longer be in our caseload. The gentleman who handled your father’s estate 26 years ago is no longer with the firm, but his cases have been redistributed, and we’ll have copies of the agreement stored here another four years in case there are any other problems. After the release papers, I’ll also need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement with the firm.”
She handed the third folder to me.
“For what?” I asked of the ‘non-disclosure’ agreement. It was just a pocket watch, right?
“It’s standard,” she assured me, waving her hand nonchalantly in the air above her desk. “We have all our clients sign them when an estate is closed. It just says we’re not liable for anything that happens after we release the property to you. And since this is unique to just you, we’ve added a clause to include you and anyone related to you.”
Curious, I looked over the non-disclosure agreement before even opening the release papers from the law firm. The first few stipulations looked normal, but the fourth and then the fifth bothered me.
“It says you can’t be sued if releasing the property to me causes my death or the death of someone related to me,” I recited. “And if I or someone related to me tries, your law firm will deny ever having given me anything. What the hell does that mean?”
Ms. March inhaled deeply. “Mr. Collins — ”
“It’s a goddamn pocket watch and some stupid letters,” I exclaimed. “What is — How is that even remotely related to anything that could kill me?”
“Mr. Collins, please — ”
“Do you know something about my father you’re not telling me?” I demanded. “Because he was my father. He wasn’t just some estate owner. What the hell is — ”
“Connor,” Phoebe said softly, still grasping onto my arm. “Calm down. She’s just doing her job. We talked about this. This isn’t their property. It was your father’s. That’s all. Okay.”
I stared at her for the longest moment, seeing something in her eyes I’d never seen in the two years I’d known her. Worry. And fear.
While still holding the manila folder, I laid the non-disclosure agreement on Ms. March’s desk, opening the folder and going through the release papers before I gave them back to her. After another half-minute, she nudged to agreement back toward me, and reluctantly, I took the papers to sign them. It worried me the way some of those stipulations were worded, and even though I was a little scared of what it meant for me to agree to them, I figured as soon as I had my father’s things, there wasn’t anything they could do about it either.
Ms. March smiled nervously as she took the papers from me, and with a bow of her head, she stepped out of the office, I supposed, to retrieve the items my father had left me.
Phoebe took my hand the minute she was gone, and I let out the deep breath I’d inhaled.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “but it doesn’t
— It just made me a little angry. I mean, my father gave them all these instructions, but they’re trying to cover their ass in the remote event that whatever he left me causes them to get sued. I don’t get it.”
She lifted her hand to my face. “It’s okay. It’s what lawyers do. I’d do the same thing if my boss told me to. It’s not about you, Connor. It’s the law firm. It’s okay,” she said again.
I bowed my head then, inhaling again and exhaling as Ms. March returned with a small lock box in her hands.
This was the part I was semi-prepared for, as my mother had given me the only set of keys to my father’s deposit box on her death bed and made me swear not to mention it to anyone until I decided to accept the things willed to me. I’d only informed Phoebe of the keys a few days earlier after speaking with Ms. March. She’d been surprised that I could keep it from her, but when I explained, she understood. She always understood. It was one of the many things I loved about her.
“Now, I understand you have the keys to open your father’s deposit box,” Ms. March announced, setting the box on the desk with the lock facing me. “We brought it over just for you along with instructions from your father for you to read before opening the box.”
She shuffled through more papers, handing me a long, yellowed envelope with my name on it. I was surprised to discover the envelope sealed. With as nervous as Ms. March was, I would’ve guessed they’d already taken a look at what was inside. Even still, I opened the envelope
carefully, discovering a short, hand-written letter inside also addressed to me. The first of more than 250 letters. I’d been counting for years.
Dear Connor, my son,
The contents of this box are more valuable to me today than I ever thought they would be. And that is because I’m giving them to you in the hopes that one day, you’ll understand why I was forced to do this. Be delicate with these treasures, Connor. As innocuous as they may appear, do not underestimate their power. I do not want to leave you or your mother, but by doing this, you will know the truth of your father’s life and your mother’s. Guard these things I’m leaving you with your life. It’s all I wish. It’s all I have. Be safe, son.
Your father,
Christopher
While holding the letter away from Ms. March and Phoebe, I felt my pulse increase as the gravity of my father’s words hit me harder than I thought possible. He’d known something was going to happen to him. And he’d tried to save me from it. My mother too. I realized that I’d been worried about all the wrong things.
“Connor,” Phoebe said softly. “Is everything okay?”
I sat up immediately, folding the letter and slipping it into my jacket without showing it to her. “Everything’s fine,” I lied, reaching into my pocket for my keys to the deposit box.
Ms. March smiled nervously again. Now I was even more suspicious of her than I had been before.
With little ceremony, I moved forward and unlocked the deposit box, lifting the lid and peering inside.
First, I saw two thick stacks of letters with my name on them, and I lifted them out of the deposit box first. The heaviness of the letters was enough to make tears catch in my throat. My mother had been telling the truth. My father really had written me letters. Slowly, I handed them to Phoebe, glancing at Ms. March and seeing a look of anticipation on her face. I pursed my lips slightly, reaching into the box again.
The moment I saw the black square box nestled in the corner of the deposit box, I knew what was inside, and I lifted the box to open it. The chain to the watch fell out first, and I lifted the watch out of its box to look at it. The first thing I saw was the crescent moon and stars embossed on the front, and I flipped it over to discover a lion’s head embossed on the back. I remembered my mother telling me a lion was a symbol passed down through my father’s family. Now I knew why. The watch was white gold and looked almost brand new except for a few minor dings on the inside cover. It was there I saw the engraving my mother had always told me about as the names of the men in my father’s family and their wives lay inscribed over the inside cover of the watch. At the bottom was my name, but no woman’s name. The watch face was barely scratched, and the second hand was still ticking.
“It still works,” I smiled, glancing at Phoebe. Then I realized where I was and what I was doing, and I knew that wasn’t possible. “It’s been in this box for 26 years. How is it still ticking?”
I looked at Ms. March.
“I don’t know, Mr. Collins,” she insisted.
I looked at Phoebe, slipping the pocket watch into my jacket pocket. “Is that everything?” I asked Ms. March.
She stuttered, looking over the papers on her desk, and for half a minute, the room was silent. Then she looked at me.
“Well, we have your identification papers, and we have all the release papers. Non-disclosure agreement. And you have all the papers your father intended for you to have, yes?”
To that, I nodded even though I was only going by what she was telling me. “I suppose I do.”
“And we have all your signatures,” she concluded with a smile. At that, she stood up, and curiously, I followed her. “I think that’s everything,” she nodded, reaching for my hand. “Thank you for coming in early, and we appreciate what a difficult decision it was for you to come in today. You have a good day, Mr. Collins.”
“I will,” I nodded, reaching for Phoebe’s hand and pulling her out of Ms. March’s office.
In the few seconds it took me and Phoebe to walk down the corridor to the glass doors, I watched Ms. March as closely as I could, positive now that she knew something she wasn’t telling me.
As soon as Phoebe and I were on the elevator, I spoke softly. “All right, please tell me that was a little strange,” I begged. “Because I know that wasn’t normal.”
Phoebe laughed softly, squeezing my arm. “She’s just high-strung,” she insisted.
I turned to face her, easing my arms around her to hold her close. “That’s not all,” I commented, leaning closer and kissing her gently.
The doors opened then, prompting us both to stop, and I pulled Phoebe’s arms around me, drifting to the back of the elevator as the older man and woman glanced over their shoulders at us. I kissed Phoebe’s cheek, and when the doors opened to the front lobby, I pulled her with me to leave the building.
“I think we should celebrate,” I announced.
“And what are we celebrating?” she asked softly.
“We’re both alive. We’re getting married. What more reason do we need?”
To that, she said nothing, bowing her head in agreement.
Inheritance
Part Two
Harper, March & Fields wasn’t a law firm I’d ever heard of until a few months ago when I’d received a letter from them concerning my father’s will. It was strange that they’d waited until nine months after my 25th birthday to contact me — especially when the instructions had specifically stated alerting me on that day. Phyllis March wasn’t an entirely unpleasant woman to talk to, but she was fidgety and a little high strung. She always struck me as the type of person who didn’t like surprises. On that note, I could relate.
Traffic so early in the morning wasn’t too bad, but just as we got into downtown Chicago, everything came to a grinding halt. I looked at my watch, noting we had only been out about ten minutes, and we were only a few blocks away.
“We could walk,” I suggested to her, noticing how she was twirling her engagement ring around her finger and leaning closer to kiss her cheek. “We could always elope. It’s not like your mother and father don’t like me.”
She smiled, lifting her hand to the other side of my face. The brakes on the cab shrieked loudly, and we looked at each other before I peered over the seat at the meter and then pulled out my wallet.
“We’ll get out here,” I insisted, paying the man driving us and then opening the door to my left.
“Suit yourself,” he scoffed.
With that, we stepped out of the cab, hurrying to the sidewalk and then blending in with the people making their way to work.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” I commented, grasping onto her hand and glancing at her. “Why don’t you tell me what you were going to last night? Maybe it’s something I can help you with.”
She laughed softly, wrapping her hand around my arm. “I really want to wait until tonight,” she assured me. “I don’t think the night before you meet your father would have been an appropriate time. This is a little more important right now, and what I have to tell you can wait a little bit longer. It’s okay, Connor. It’s nothing so serious we need to have an in depth discussion about. I promise.”
I granted her this one thing, bowing my head as we walked through the crowds of people also moving toward their destinations.
On foot, we arrived at the high-rise complex within another ten minutes, and once we found out what floor the law firm was on, we got on the elevator as it filled with a few other people. Phoebe held onto me the entire time, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what she wanted to tell me. She kept playing with her engagement ring, and she always sounded so happy. I was happy just being with her. What more could I possibly want?
We were the next to last ones to get off the elevator, and I pulled Phoebe to the lobby where it set empty so early in the morning. The dark-haired woman behind the front desk lifted her eyes to us, and I stepped in front of her with Phoebe beside me.
“Good morning,” she said, grinning and allowing her eyes to light up at the sight of me. “How may I help you?”
I grasped onto Phoebe’s hand, and she wrapped her left hand around my arm, obviously wanting the woman to see her engagement ring. “I’m Connor Collins,” I announced. “Ms. March called and asked me to come in a little earlier than my appointment time. We weren’t supposed to be here until ten.”
“Of course,” she laughed softly, reaching for her phone. “Just have a seat.”
I pulled Phoebe to a sofa in the corner, and I looked at her curiously, sitting back to wait for whoever would come to get us.
“You’re acting . . . mysterious,” I commented, to which she blushed slightly. “And you’re never mysterious. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
She smiled, holding my hand a little tighter. “Nothing is wrong, Connor,” she insisted. “And I know being here to do this is a little more important than what I have to tell you. We’ll talk tonight after we get back to the apartment. And besides, you’ve been preparing yourself for this for a long time. You’re going to have me with you for the rest of your life.”
I leaned closer to her, allowing my lips to caress hers as I whispered. “Count on it,” I swore.
The secretary cleared her throat loudly then, and I turned my head to see Ms. March coming through the inner glass doors that led away from the lobby.
Ms. March’s frizzy red hair was pinned tightly into a bun at the base of her head, a few flyaways framing her freckled face, and her brown eyes were trained on me more intently than they ever had been since I’d met her a week ago. Usually, a few meetings aren’t enough for me to remember a person’s mannerisms or their appearance, but for some reason, I noticed she was nervous and rushed. I thought it was strange since she’d called me, and I knew I wasn’t late.
“Mr. Collins,” she greeted, reaching for my hand. “Thank you for coming in early. And who is this lovely woman with you?”
As we stood within listening distance from the secretary’s desk, I found an odd satisfaction in the way I announced Phoebe’s name and her place. “This is Phoebe Middleton. She’s my fiancé.”
Ms. March reached for her hand immediately. “So wonderful to meet you. Marcia,” she said to the secretary. “Hold all my calls.”
Marcia nodded, eyeing me with a glint in her pale blue eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
With that, Ms. March turned to the glass doors and opened them for us to follow us into the back offices.
The walk to the large office Ms. March occupied was hurried and silent. I grasped onto Phoebe’s hand the whole time, feeling the racing in my chest and attempting to keep my breathing even. It wasn’t easy. I was already anxious, and the brisk welcome was somewhat exasperating my anxiety. Ms. March was acting like a woman on a mission — in a frenzy to complete it regardless of how hasty she came off in the process.
She opened her office door, gesturing for us to sit down, and she followed, moving behind the desk as three sets of manila folders laid out over her desk planner.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I needed you to come in earlier than your appointment,” she commented. “There are a few more papers to sign, and documents for you to go over while we’re releasing your father’s possessions to you. First, I’ll give all the identification documents to you for your review and signature,” she announced, opening the first folder and then taking a pen from her desk. Without so much as a look up from her desk, she handed me the whole thing.
Overwhelmed, I was relieved to discover only a few sheets of paper inside, and I happily looked over everything, filling in all my information and then signing even though I realized copies of my driver’s license, social security card and birth certificate were all inside and notarized from the courthouse across the street. I remembered doing that, but for the slightest second, it stunned me that all of this was really happening. After I signed everything, she was going to hand me a bundle of letters and a pocket watch from my father. By the end of the day, I would be able to read everything he’d wanted me to know.
“Something wrong?” Phoebe asked, squeezing my arm gently.
Finished, I closed the folder and handed it back to Ms. March. “No,” I assured her.
“Now,” Ms. March said after half a minute, “we have release papers from the bank where the safety deposit box is being held, and we also have accountant slips from the bank for you to sign and close out your father’s account. It’s just a formality. They need something on record showing the contents inside were claimed and not stolen.”
She handed the second folder to me. This one was much thicker and contained documents with a lot of jargon I didn’t understand. I wasn’t an attorney, so I had no idea what a lot of it meant, but I’d shown the copies I’d been given to a friend who wasn’t Phoebe. He’d said it was all normal. I read and signed all of it, handing it back to her. She looked over everything, penning her own name as the overseeing attorney, and after she closed that folder, she opened the third.
“This is the original document your father had drawn up when he opened his estate with us,” she revealed to me, taking a letter from the last folder and handing it to me. “He wanted you to have the original, and we’ll keep the copies.”
I took the letter, reading my father’s name written in at the top and then his signature at the bottom. I realized he’d written in his own name before signing it at the bottom, and the middle was typed in an old typewriter. Why would he want me to have an original document from 1974? Wasn’t it useless now?
Ms. March waited almost a minute before speaking again.
“We also have release papers from the law firm for you to sign and close out your father’s estate since the items he left you will no longer be in our caseload. The gentleman who handled your father’s estate 26 years ago is no longer with the firm, but his cases have been redistributed, and we’ll have copies of the agreement stored here another four years in case there are any other problems. After the release papers, I’ll also need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement with the firm.”
She handed the third folder to me.
“For what?” I asked of the ‘non-disclosure’ agreement. It was just a pocket watch, right?
“It’s standard,” she assured me, waving her hand nonchalantly in the air above her desk. “We have all our clients sign them when an estate is closed. It just says we’re not liable for anything that happens after we release the property to you. And since this is unique to just you, we’ve added a clause to include you and anyone related to you.”
Curious, I looked over the non-disclosure agreement before even opening the release papers from the law firm. The first few stipulations looked normal, but the fourth and then the fifth bothered me.
“It says you can’t be sued if releasing the property to me causes my death or the death of someone related to me,” I recited. “And if I or someone related to me tries, your law firm will deny ever having given me anything. What the hell does that mean?”
Ms. March inhaled deeply. “Mr. Collins — ”
“It’s a goddamn pocket watch and some stupid letters,” I exclaimed. “What is — How is that even remotely related to anything that could kill me?”
“Mr. Collins, please — ”
“Do you know something about my father you’re not telling me?” I demanded. “Because he was my father. He wasn’t just some estate owner. What the hell is — ”
“Connor,” Phoebe said softly, still grasping onto my arm. “Calm down. She’s just doing her job. We talked about this. This isn’t their property. It was your father’s. That’s all. Okay.”
I stared at her for the longest moment, seeing something in her eyes I’d never seen in the two years I’d known her. Worry. And fear.
While still holding the manila folder, I laid the non-disclosure agreement on Ms. March’s desk, opening the folder and going through the release papers before I gave them back to her. After another half-minute, she nudged to agreement back toward me, and reluctantly, I took the papers to sign them. It worried me the way some of those stipulations were worded, and even though I was a little scared of what it meant for me to agree to them, I figured as soon as I had my father’s things, there wasn’t anything they could do about it either.
Ms. March smiled nervously as she took the papers from me, and with a bow of her head, she stepped out of the office, I supposed, to retrieve the items my father had left me.
Phoebe took my hand the minute she was gone, and I let out the deep breath I’d inhaled.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “but it doesn’t
— It just made me a little angry. I mean, my father gave them all these instructions, but they’re trying to cover their ass in the remote event that whatever he left me causes them to get sued. I don’t get it.”
She lifted her hand to my face. “It’s okay. It’s what lawyers do. I’d do the same thing if my boss told me to. It’s not about you, Connor. It’s the law firm. It’s okay,” she said again.
I bowed my head then, inhaling again and exhaling as Ms. March returned with a small lock box in her hands.
This was the part I was semi-prepared for, as my mother had given me the only set of keys to my father’s deposit box on her death bed and made me swear not to mention it to anyone until I decided to accept the things willed to me. I’d only informed Phoebe of the keys a few days earlier after speaking with Ms. March. She’d been surprised that I could keep it from her, but when I explained, she understood. She always understood. It was one of the many things I loved about her.
“Now, I understand you have the keys to open your father’s deposit box,” Ms. March announced, setting the box on the desk with the lock facing me. “We brought it over just for you along with instructions from your father for you to read before opening the box.”
She shuffled through more papers, handing me a long, yellowed envelope with my name on it. I was surprised to discover the envelope sealed. With as nervous as Ms. March was, I would’ve guessed they’d already taken a look at what was inside. Even still, I opened the envelope
carefully, discovering a short, hand-written letter inside also addressed to me. The first of more than 250 letters. I’d been counting for years.
Dear Connor, my son,
The contents of this box are more valuable to me today than I ever thought they would be. And that is because I’m giving them to you in the hopes that one day, you’ll understand why I was forced to do this. Be delicate with these treasures, Connor. As innocuous as they may appear, do not underestimate their power. I do not want to leave you or your mother, but by doing this, you will know the truth of your father’s life and your mother’s. Guard these things I’m leaving you with your life. It’s all I wish. It’s all I have. Be safe, son.
Your father,
Christopher
While holding the letter away from Ms. March and Phoebe, I felt my pulse increase as the gravity of my father’s words hit me harder than I thought possible. He’d known something was going to happen to him. And he’d tried to save me from it. My mother too. I realized that I’d been worried about all the wrong things.
“Connor,” Phoebe said softly. “Is everything okay?”
I sat up immediately, folding the letter and slipping it into my jacket without showing it to her. “Everything’s fine,” I lied, reaching into my pocket for my keys to the deposit box.
Ms. March smiled nervously again. Now I was even more suspicious of her than I had been before.
With little ceremony, I moved forward and unlocked the deposit box, lifting the lid and peering inside.
First, I saw two thick stacks of letters with my name on them, and I lifted them out of the deposit box first. The heaviness of the letters was enough to make tears catch in my throat. My mother had been telling the truth. My father really had written me letters. Slowly, I handed them to Phoebe, glancing at Ms. March and seeing a look of anticipation on her face. I pursed my lips slightly, reaching into the box again.
The moment I saw the black square box nestled in the corner of the deposit box, I knew what was inside, and I lifted the box to open it. The chain to the watch fell out first, and I lifted the watch out of its box to look at it. The first thing I saw was the crescent moon and stars embossed on the front, and I flipped it over to discover a lion’s head embossed on the back. I remembered my mother telling me a lion was a symbol passed down through my father’s family. Now I knew why. The watch was white gold and looked almost brand new except for a few minor dings on the inside cover. It was there I saw the engraving my mother had always told me about as the names of the men in my father’s family and their wives lay inscribed over the inside cover of the watch. At the bottom was my name, but no woman’s name. The watch face was barely scratched, and the second hand was still ticking.
“It still works,” I smiled, glancing at Phoebe. Then I realized where I was and what I was doing, and I knew that wasn’t possible. “It’s been in this box for 26 years. How is it still ticking?”
I looked at Ms. March.
“I don’t know, Mr. Collins,” she insisted.
I looked at Phoebe, slipping the pocket watch into my jacket pocket. “Is that everything?” I asked Ms. March.
She stuttered, looking over the papers on her desk, and for half a minute, the room was silent. Then she looked at me.
“Well, we have your identification papers, and we have all the release papers. Non-disclosure agreement. And you have all the papers your father intended for you to have, yes?”
To that, I nodded even though I was only going by what she was telling me. “I suppose I do.”
“And we have all your signatures,” she concluded with a smile. At that, she stood up, and curiously, I followed her. “I think that’s everything,” she nodded, reaching for my hand. “Thank you for coming in early, and we appreciate what a difficult decision it was for you to come in today. You have a good day, Mr. Collins.”
“I will,” I nodded, reaching for Phoebe’s hand and pulling her out of Ms. March’s office.
In the few seconds it took me and Phoebe to walk down the corridor to the glass doors, I watched Ms. March as closely as I could, positive now that she knew something she wasn’t telling me.
As soon as Phoebe and I were on the elevator, I spoke softly. “All right, please tell me that was a little strange,” I begged. “Because I know that wasn’t normal.”
Phoebe laughed softly, squeezing my arm. “She’s just high-strung,” she insisted.
I turned to face her, easing my arms around her to hold her close. “That’s not all,” I commented, leaning closer and kissing her gently.
The doors opened then, prompting us both to stop, and I pulled Phoebe’s arms around me, drifting to the back of the elevator as the older man and woman glanced over their shoulders at us. I kissed Phoebe’s cheek, and when the doors opened to the front lobby, I pulled her with me to leave the building.
“I think we should celebrate,” I announced.
“And what are we celebrating?” she asked softly.
“We’re both alive. We’re getting married. What more reason do we need?”
To that, she said nothing, bowing her head in agreement.