Chapter 11 - Uncle Richard
Richard arrived at Whitmore House with two attorneys.
He acted offended.
“I protected this family for thirty years.”
I placed Emma’s photograph on the desk.
“You buried my living wife.”
His expression barely changed.
“Emma was medically vulnerable.”
“You told me she was dead.”
“I relied on information given to me.”
“By whom?”
He said nothing.
“Victoria says you knew.”
“Victoria is protecting herself.”
I leaned forward.
“Then tell me why you became trustee of Emma’s assets.”
Richard smiled faintly.
“Because you appointed me.”
“I thought she was dead.”
“You signed voluntarily.”
That answer told me everything about how Richard viewed morality.
Not as right and wrong.
As technically signed and technically permitted.
“Where did the body in Emma’s coffin come from?”
For the first time, Richard lost composure.
“There was no body.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The casket contained personal effects and ceremonial weight.”
My throat tightened.
I had buried an empty coffin.
Richard continued coldly.
“You insisted on a closed service because of what you believed were her injuries.”
“No.”
“You don’t remember much from that week, Damon.”
He was right.
Grief had blurred everything.
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And Richard had used every second of it.
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