I found a small flash drive taped to the underside of my desk drawer, which was something my mother had instructed me to look for years ago. I slipped it into my pocket and carried the last of my things past the man who had been my father, but who now felt like a complete stranger.
As I walked onto the porch, I heard the heavy sound of the deadbolt sliding into place behind me. I sat in my car for ten minutes while the reality of being homeless and motherless settled into my bones with a heavy weight.
I eventually drove to the apartment of my best friend, Skylar Bennett, who lived in a small unit above a local bakery. Skylar met me at the curb and helped me carry my bags up the stairs while uttering a string of colorful insults directed at my father.
“You are staying here for as long as you need, and we are going to fight this,” she said while handing me a cup of tea. “He said he filed everything and that the house belongs to him now,” I told her while staring at the mismatched furniture in her living room.
“Your mother was a brilliant strategist who wouldn’t leave you exposed to a man like Richard,” Skylar said while opening her laptop. We plugged the flash drive into her computer and found a folder titled with my name.
Inside was a video file and a digital document with instructions to contact a lawyer named Joanna Kempton immediately. “Joanna was your mother’s closest confidante for decades,” Skylar noted as I opened the first file.
It was a letter from Victoria that explained she had anticipated this exact scenario and had prepared for it. “If you are reading this, Audrey, it means your father has chosen his own interests over yours,” the letter began.
“Do not sign any documents he provides, and do not believe a word he says regarding the estate,” Victoria had written. “Call Joanna Kempton because she has the true copies of the trust and the evidence of every agreement your father signed.”
My mother’s words felt like a lifeline reaching out from the darkness to pull me back to safety. “She knew he was going to do this,” I whispered while tears blurred my vision once again.
I contacted Joanna Kempton that afternoon, and she answered the phone on the second ring as if she had been waiting for my call. “Audrey, are you currently in a safe location?” she asked with a voice that was both sharp and professional.
“I am with Skylar, but my father has locked me out of the house,” I explained while trying to keep my breathing under control. “Tell me exactly what Richard said to you during the eviction,” Joanna commanded while I heard the sound of her typing in the background.
