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The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared across the street at the dark house.
Mrs. Hollis was gone. We’d given her those heart pills just yesterday, but if she’d had to go without medication for a while, maybe it was too little, too late.
“But what do the trunks have to do with anything?” I asked.
Officer Davis hesitated. “I can’t answer that, ma’am.”
Before I could ask another question, tires screeched against pavement.
“But what do the trunks have to do with anything?”
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A sleek black car swung in behind the police cruisers.
The driver’s door flew open, and a man in a tailored gray suit stepped out, jaw clenched, eyes locked on our porch.
He marched straight across the lawn, weaving between the trunks like they personally offended him.
“Which one of you is Sarah?”
I stood. “I am.”
He marched straight across the lawn.
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“That was my mother.” He jabbed a finger toward the empty house across the street. “She wasn’t in her right mind.”
“What are you talking about?”
He swept his arm toward the rows of trunks. “Those are family heirlooms. Solid silver. Antique jewelry. Pieces my grandfather brought over from the old country. They rightfully belong to me, you thief.”
I felt my heart hammering against my ribs. “Sir, I had nothing to do with—”
“Save it.”
“They rightfully belong to me, you thief.”
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He stepped closer, and Officer Davis immediately moved between us.
“My mother was alone. Then suddenly some neighbor’s kid shows up with a gift, and overnight everything changes?”
I looked down at Larry. He was crying quietly, confused, still in his dinosaur pajamas.
Something inside me steadied.
“My son spent every dollar he had on her heart pills,” I said. “He gave up a Lego set he’d been saving for since Christmas. That is what happened. Nothing else.”
He was crying quietly, confused, still in his dinosaur pajamas.
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He laughed. It was a sharp, ugly sound.
“His allowance. Right.” He pointed at the trunks. “And now he gets a yard full of antiques. Quite the return on investment.”
A car door closed at the end of the driveway. A thin older man in a gray coat walked up the path carrying a leather folder against his chest.
“Mr. Hollis,” he called. “I’m Mr. Vance. I handled your mother’s affairs.”
“And now he gets a yard full of antiques. Quite the return on investment.”
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Mr. Hollis spun toward him. “Good. Then you can tell these people to hand over my property.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Mr. Vance stopped beside the porch, opened the folder, and removed several papers. “Your mother signed these documents yesterday afternoon in my presence and in the presence of two witnesses. They were properly notarized.”
The neighbors on the sidewalk fell silent.
Mr. Hollis snatched the papers from his hands.
His face moved through several colors as he read.
“Good. Then you can tell these people to hand over my property.”
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“This is a forgery,” Mr. Hollis snapped.
“It is not.”
“She was confused.”
“She was lucid.”
“I am her son.” Mr. Hollis’s voice cracked. “Her only son.”
Mr. Vance nodded once. “Yes. And yet she chose to leave every trunk on this lawn to a boy named Larry. Would you like to know why?”
“This is a forgery.”
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The crowd murmured.
Mr. Hollis stared at him. “Why?”
Mr. Vance folded his hands over the folder. “She told me the boy gave her something no one else had given her in years.”
Mr. Hollis swallowed. “And what was that?”
“Attention.”
The word landed harder than a shout.
Mr. Hollis turned slowly toward Larry. His eyes burned with rage.
“She told me the boy gave her something no one else had given her in years.”
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“You think you’re clever,” Mr. Hollis said. “You think a few pills bought you a fortune.”
“Don’t.” I stepped fully in front of my son. “Don’t you dare talk to my son like that.”
“I want them opened,” Mr. Hollis snapped. “Right now. In front of everyone.”
Officer Davis crossed his arms. “That’s not a good idea.”