Chapter 8: The Man Who Stole Twenty-One Years
The solicitor arrived on a Thursday morning.
His name was Peter Lawson.
He was a thin man in his early sixties, with silver hair, a brown leather briefcase, and the kind of smile that made you feel he was already calculating what you owned.
Arthur opened the door.
"Mr Whitmore?""
"Yes.""
"My name is Peter Lawson. I'm representing your son.""
Arthur didn't move.
"Which son?""
"Thomas.""
Arthur tightened his grip on the cane.
"He's upstairs.""
"I need to discuss some legal matters with him.""
Arthur stepped aside.
"Come in.""
I was in the kitchen when they entered.
Thomas was sitting in the living room, looking through his mother's letters.
Peter placed his briefcase on the coffee table.
"Thomas, good to see you.""
Thomas looked up.
"I know you.""
"Of course. We met last year.""
Arthur sat beside his son.
"What legal matters?""
Peter opened his briefcase.
"Your uncle, Richard, has been attempting to establish contact.""
Thomas's expression changed.
"Richard?""
"Yes.""
Arthur leaned forward.
"That man has no business contacting my family.""
Peter remained calm.
"Mr Whitmore, I understand there's history here. However, Richard is currently the named executor of your son's estate and has been managing several financial matters on his behalf.""
Thomas shook his head.
"He stole my letters.""
Peter glanced at him.
"I'm aware of the allegations.""
"They weren't allegations.""
Thomas's voice became louder.
"He told my parents I was dead.""
Peter closed his briefcase.
"Thomas, the legal position is complicated.""
Arthur stood.
"Then explain it simply.""
Peter looked uncomfortable.
"Following the accident, Thomas signed a power-of-attorney document while recovering. His uncle was given authority over certain financial matters.""
"Was Thomas capable of understanding what he signed?"" I asked.
Peter looked at me.
"That is precisely what is being investigated.""
Arthur's face hardened.
"And the house?""
Peter hesitated.
"What house?""
"The house Richard sold.""
Peter looked down at his papers.
"That property was transferred into his name several years ago.""
Arthur's hand tightened around his cane.
"Margaret and I bought that house.""
"I understand.""
"With our money.""
"Yes.""
"And our son lived there.""
Peter nodded.
"Yes.""
Arthur leaned closer.
"Then tell me how a man who was told his own son was dead managed to sell his son's home.""
Peter didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned toward Thomas.
"I've brought a document. I'd like you to look at it.""
Thomas stared at the paper.
His hands began trembling.
"I don't want to.""
Peter pushed it closer.
"It's important.""
Arthur moved the document away.
"Not today.""
Peter sighed.
"Mr Whitmore, this isn't something we can simply ignore.""
Arthur looked him directly in the eyes.
"Then come back when my son is ready.""
Peter gathered his papers.
But before leaving, he placed a small envelope on the table.
"Richard asked me to give you this.""
Thomas stared at it.
His face went white.
"Don't open it," he whispered.
Arthur picked it up.
The envelope was addressed to Thomas.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Richard standing beside a young Thomas outside the family home.
On the back were six words.
You should have stayed away.
Thomas began breathing rapidly.
Arthur immediately put an arm around him.
"You're home, son.""
Thomas shook his head.
"He'll come here.""
"Let him.""
"He'll take everything.""
Arthur looked toward the front door.
"Not this time.""
That evening, I found Arthur in the hallway.
He was taking down old photographs.
Not putting them away.
Moving them.
He placed Emily's photograph beside Thomas's.
Then he brought down Margaret's wedding picture.
All three were placed on the living room mantelpiece.
"What are you doing?"" I asked.
"Making room.""
"For what?""
Arthur smiled faintly.
"For my family.""
I helped him straighten the frames.
Then I noticed a small photograph tucked behind Margaret's wedding picture.
It showed Richard.
He was standing beside Margaret, holding a glass of champagne.
"Who's that?""
Arthur looked at the photograph.
His expression darkened.
"Margaret's younger brother.""
I stared.
"Richard was her brother?""
Arthur nodded.
"He lived with us for a while after his marriage ended.""
"Why?""
"He had nowhere to go.""
I looked at the photograph again.
"Was he close to Thomas?""
Arthur gave a bitter laugh.
"Closer than he should have been.""
He explained that Richard had always been jealous of Arthur and Margaret.
He had borrowed money.
Taken advantage of their generosity.
And when Emily became ill, he had started telling Thomas that his parents no longer cared about him.
"He told the boy that we only loved Emily," Arthur said.
I felt sick.
"And Margaret never knew?""
"She knew something was wrong. But Richard always had an explanation.""
Arthur picked up the photograph.
"She trusted her brother.""
The next morning, Thomas woke up confused again.
He walked into the living room and looked at the pictures.
"Who's that man?""
Arthur followed his gaze.
"Your uncle.""
Thomas stared.
Then something seemed to click.
"Richard.""
"Yes.""
Thomas stepped closer.
"He came to the hospital.""
Arthur froze.
"What?""
Thomas touched the photograph.
"After the accident. He visited me.""
"What did he say?""
Thomas frowned.
"He said you didn't want me to come home.""
Arthur closed his eyes.
Thomas continued.
"He said Mum had stopped asking about me.""
Arthur sat down.
"That wasn't true.""
"I know.""
Thomas looked at him.
"But there's something else.""
"What, son?""
Thomas walked to the small desk beside the window.
He opened the drawer and removed an old notebook.
"I kept this after the accident.""
He turned several pages.
Then he pointed to a date.
"November 14, 2005.""
Arthur leaned forward.
Thomas read aloud.
Richard came today. He says Dad has sent him to collect my signature. He says the house is being transferred because Dad doesn't want me to inherit anything.
Thomas looked up.
"I signed something that day.""
Arthur's face went pale.
"Did you understand what it was?""
"No.""
"Thomas...""
"I was taking medication. I couldn't remember the accident. Richard said it was just hospital paperwork.""
Arthur took the notebook.
At the bottom of the page was another sentence.
He told me Mum and Dad had died.
Arthur's lips parted.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he looked at me.
"That man made our son believe we were dead.""
Thomas nodded slowly.
"And I believed him.""
A knock came from the front door.
Three hard knocks.
Arthur stood.
I followed him.
When he opened it, a tall elderly man stood outside.
His hair was white.
His face was thinner than the photograph.
But I recognised him immediately.
Richard.
He looked past Arthur and smiled.
"Well, well. Look who's finally home.""
Arthur didn't move.
Richard held out a document.
"I've come to settle a few things.""
Arthur stared at him.
"Get off my doorstep.""
Richard's smile disappeared.
"You're making a mistake, Arthur.""
"No.""
Arthur stepped forward.
"For twenty-one years, I made the mistake of believing you.""
Richard lowered his voice.
"Thomas belongs with me. I have the legal authority—"
From behind Arthur, Thomas appeared.
He was holding Margaret's old letters.
"Richard?""
Richard turned.
For the first time, his confidence vanished.
Thomas looked at him.
Then he said something that made Richard take one step backward.
"You told me my parents were dead.""
Richard's mouth opened.
May you like
Thomas continued.
"And I've brought something that proves you knew they weren't.""
