Smith avoided my gaze as he replied, "Mrs. Reynolds, your son is listed as the sole heir according to this document."
Several people lowered their gaze, reluctant to meet mine, as humiliation filled the air. I felt shame, anger, and a deep sorrow that made me tremble.
I didn't scream or argue because I fully understood what Connor was doing. He wanted to strip me of my dignity in front of everyone who had come to mourn my husband.
I turned and walked toward the cemetery gate, fighting back tears, while Connor stayed behind, receiving pats on the back from those praising his strength. Just before reaching the exit, I turned back to him as if to say one last goodbye.
I carefully adjusted his coat over his shoulders and, with a swift movement, slipped something small into the inside pocket without drawing attention. He didn't notice, and no one else saw anything unusual.
As I walked away, my phone vibrated once in my hand.
What seemed like a quiet, insignificant gesture would soon reveal truths that would shatter everything I believed about my son and my husband's business world. That small action carried consequences that Connor couldn't yet imagine.
I didn't go home because it no longer belonged to me in any real sense. Instead, I went to a quiet coffee shop near Denver's Union Station, where no one recognized me and where I could think without interruption.
I placed my phone on the table and stared at it as if it were the only thing keeping me whole. The earlier vibration hadn't been accidental; in Connor's coat pocket was a small tracking device connected to an app Scott used on his business trips.
That morning, I had picked it up without fully understanding why, guided only by a strong intuition that Connor wasn't acting alone. When I opened the app, I saw that the signal started in the cemetery and then steadily moved toward the city center.
Connor didn't stay to mourn his father, as everyone expected. He left with the will and my keys, with a clear purpose.
I remembered Scott's office and the safe hidden behind a landscape painting. I also remembered something he told me weeks before he died, with a strange urgency in his voice.
"If you ever feel that something is wrong, trust what I left outside the house," he said quietly.
At the time, I dismissed her words as unnecessary concern. Now I felt them as a warning I should have taken seriously.
The tracker stopped near Capitol Avenue, in front of a notary's office. I carefully crossed the street and looked out the window without being seen.
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