“I am speaking of your great aunt Beatrice. She lived in a coastal town named Cedar Bay. She passed away last week and left a will. You are named as the sole beneficiary.”
Natalie sat up. “That must be a mistake. I barely knew her. She sent birthday cards sometimes.”
“There is no mistake,” the attorney replied. “I would like to meet you tomorrow to discuss the estate. I assure you it is important.”
Natalie agreed out of politeness, expecting perhaps an old ring or a small piece of furniture. The next day she took a bus to Cedar Bay, walking into a law office that smelled of sea salt and polished wood.
The attorney handed her a folder. Inside were property deeds, rental contracts, investment accounts, and a business share certificate for a small manufacturing company. The total estimated value sat at the bottom of the page in bold print.
Eight million dollars.
Natalie thought the room tilted. She gripped the chair. Attorney Pricewell spoke gently. “Your aunt lived simply, but she was an investor from a young age. She never married, had no children, and followed your life quietly. She believed you had a kind heart and would use this responsibly.”
Natalie swallowed. “When will this be finalized.”
“In five days,” he said. “Once probate closes, everything transfers to your name. No one else has any claim.”
That evening Brandon sent a message.
“Hurry up and sign tomorrow. Stop stalling.”
Natalie stared at the phone and replied.
“I will sign.”
Not from fear. From calculation. The next day in the courthouse, she had signed away a marriage that had already died. She walked out appearing penniless, unprotected, defeated. Exactly how Brandon expected her to be.
Five days later, Attorney Pricewell called.
“Ms. Foster. The estate is closed. The properties, accounts, and shares are officially yours.”
Natalie closed her eyes and exhaled. That night she ordered takeout, sat on the floor of her tiny apartment, and opened a notebook. On the first page she wrote one word. Freedom.
The next morning she traveled back to Cedar Bay. She toured the manufacturing company that employed eighty workers. A middle aged supervisor greeted her with surprise and warmth.
“Your aunt visited every month,” the supervisor said. “She always asked about you. She said one day you might need a door that opens.”