Attached to it was another document.
I read it once.
Then again.
The house had not been left to Patricia.
Walter had given Patricia a life estate.
That meant she could live in the house for the rest of her life.
But she did not own the property outright.
The actual ownership—the remainder interest—had been placed inside a trust.
And the beneficiary named in that trust was not Grant.
Not Vivian.
Not any Monroe by blood.
It was me.
Allison Reeves Monroe.
Walter had signed the documents eighteen months before his death.
They had been witnessed.
Notarized.
Prepared by his own lawyer.
And Patricia knew nothing about them.
Walter had given the house to me.
His daughter-in-law.
The outsider.
The woman who had sat beside him on the porch and listened when everyone else was too busy talking.
There was also a letter.
I still have it.
I have read it so often that I practically know every sentence.
