Chapter 2 - The Man in the Christmas PhotographLily barely slept.
She kept the velvet box beneath her pillow and woke repeatedly to touch it, half expecting it to disappear.
At six the next morning, Eleanor was already awake.
The older woman sat in the kitchen in her wheelchair, stirring powdered creamer into coffee.
“Morning.”
Lily stopped in the doorway.
“Grandma.”
“That sounds serious.”
Lily crossed the room.
She placed the red velvet box on the table.
Eleanor’s spoon slipped from her fingers.
Coffee splashed across the saucer.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
“Where did you find that?”
“In my coat.”
“What coat?”
“The one I found yesterday.”
Eleanor stared at the box.
Lily pulled out the photograph.
“Who is Henry?”
Eleanor’s face lost color.
“Lily.”
“You knew Henry Whitmore?”
No answer.
“The billionaire Henry Whitmore?”
Eleanor looked toward the window.
“Where did you get that coat?”
“Behind Rose Street Thrift.”
“That store closed months ago.”
“I know.”
“Was anyone there?”
“No.”
Eleanor reached for the photograph.
Her hand shook so badly Lily had to place it into her palm.
Eleanor stared at the image.
“I haven’t seen this picture in almost fifty years.”
“So he was real.”
“Yes.”
“Were you married to him?”
“No.”
“Were you going to be?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Lily sat.
She had grown up believing her grandmother’s life had always been small.
A factory job.
A modest marriage to Lily’s grandfather Frank.
A tiny home.
Coupons.
Church suppers.
Secondhand furniture.
Suddenly there was a billionaire in a Christmas photograph.
“What happened?”
Eleanor rubbed the edge of the photograph with her thumb.
“I met Henry when I was twenty-two.”
“Was he rich then?”
“His family was.”
“And you?”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“My father repaired boilers. My mother cleaned hotel rooms.”
“So how did you meet?”
“I worked evenings at the Whitmore family hotel.”
Lily leaned forward.
“Was it romantic?”
Eleanor gave her a look.
“You’ve been watching too many movies.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
Lily smiled.
“For a while.”
The smile disappeared.
Eleanor continued.
“Henry’s father hated me.”
“Why?”
“Because I had nothing.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It was 1975. Men like Arthur Whitmore didn’t call it stupid. They called it protecting the family.”
“What did Henry call it?”
“Cruel.”
“So why didn’t he marry you anyway?”
Eleanor stared at the ring.
“Because something happened.”
“What?”
Before Eleanor could answer, someone knocked at the front door.
Both froze.
Nobody visited at seven in the morning.
Lily moved toward the window.
A black sedan sat at the curb.
A man in an expensive dark coat stood on the porch.
He was perhaps sixty.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Lily opened the door only a few inches.
“Yes?”
“Is Eleanor Bennett here?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Richard Whitmore.”
Eleanor inhaled sharply behind her.
Lily looked back.
“You know him?”
Eleanor whispered, “Henry’s son.”
Lily stared.
Richard heard.
His expression changed.
“So you do remember us.”
Eleanor moved her wheelchair closer.
“What are you doing here?”
Richard looked at the velvet box on the kitchen table.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Lily stepped between him and the room.
Richard almost smiled.
“You must be Lily.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know more about you than you might expect.”
Eleanor’s eyes hardened.
“Leave.”
“Mrs. Bennett—”
“Leave my house.”
“I came because something belonging to my family disappeared yesterday.”
Lily looked toward the ring.
Richard noticed.
“That ring.”
“It belongs to Grandma.”
“No.”
Eleanor’s voice became stronger.
“It belonged to me before you were born.”
Richard stepped inside.
Lily immediately moved toward the phone.
“Get out.”
Richard raised both hands.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because my father died six months ago.”
Lily remembered the clipping.
“And?”
“During the preparation of his estate, certain personal items vanished from storage.”
Eleanor laughed bitterly.
“And naturally you assumed the poor old woman stole them.”
Richard looked at her carefully.
“My father left instructions.”
Eleanor’s expression shifted.
“What instructions?”
“To find you.”
Silence.
Lily looked from one adult to the other.
Richard removed an envelope from his coat.
“My father revised his will fourteen months before he died.”
Eleanor did not move.
“He left a personal letter addressed to Eleanor Bennett.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“I don’t want it.”
Richard’s face softened slightly.
“He asked me to give it to you personally.”
“Then you can tell a dead man he waited fifty years too long.”
Richard placed the envelope on the table.
Lily picked it up.
“Grandma.”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Richard turned toward the door.
Then paused.
“There’s something else.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“My father also left you ten million dollars.”
Lily’s mouth fell open.
Eleanor did not react.
Richard continued.
“And twenty percent of his private shares in Whitmore Global.”
Lily looked at her grandmother.
“Grandma?”
Eleanor whispered, “I don’t want his money.”
Richard studied her.
“It may not be that simple.”
“What does that mean?”
“The board is contesting that portion of the will.”
“Then let them.”
“My sister is leading the challenge.”
“Still not my problem.”
Richard glanced toward Lily.
“It becomes your problem because my father’s will includes a second beneficiary.”
Eleanor’s hand tightened around the wheelchair arm.
“Who?”
Richard looked directly at Lily.
“Her.”
The kitchen became completely silent.
Lily pointed at herself.
“Me?”
Richard nodded.
“Henry Whitmore left a trust in your name.”
Eleanor’s face changed from anger to fear.
“Why?”
Richard did not answer immediately.
That frightened Lily more than everything else.
“Why did your father leave money to me?”
Richard looked at Eleanor.
“Because according to documents found with the will, Henry believed Lily was his great-granddaughter.”
Lily slowly turned toward her grandmother.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
May you like
And Lily understood there was another secret.
One much bigger than a forgotten engagement ring.
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