I thought of Eleanor in her hospice room.
The days when her energy was low and she still insisted on talking.
The afternoons I had assumed she was simply reminiscing.
She had been building a case.
“She knew she was running out of time,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And she still didn’t tell me.”
Hale was quiet for a moment.
“She was afraid,” he said.
“Not of Douglas.
Of you.” He looked at me carefully.
“She was afraid that if you knew about the money, you would never be certain whether her feelings for you were real.
She wanted you to know her first.
As Eleanor.
Not as — all of this.”
I closed the folder.
“I need to meet him,” I said.
“Douglas.”
Hale’s expression shifted.
“I would strongly advise against that before we — “
“I’m not asking for legal advice.
I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”
He studied me for a moment.
