Chapter 36 The Last Weeks of Evelyn Hartford: The Decision
Sloane
I woke up with my head feeling like it was full of wet sand. It wasn’t the kind of morning where the sun feels warm or the house feels peaceful. It was the kind of morning where your body feels twice as heavy as it should.
Then the memory of the photograph came back. Lily’s face. Aunt Claire’s terror.
I rolled out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor. I headed downstairs. I expected to hear the clink of a spoon against a mug or the rustle of a newspaper coming from the kitchen.
I expected to see Cade sitting at the small table, his face buried in his phone or a legal brief. But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house was empty.
I walked into the kitchen. The counters were clean. The coffee pot was cold. I checked the driveway through the window, but his car was already gone.
I stood in the center of the kitchen, rubbing my face. I made a pot of coffee, not even waiting for it to finish before I poured a mug. The steam hit my face, waking me up just enough to function.
I leaned against the counter and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the contacts for a second before I hit the name I needed.
"Hello, Jonathan," I said when he picked up. My voice was raspy from sleep and the coffee.
"Sloane? Is everything alright?" Jonathan sounded surprised.
"I’m fine," I lied. "But I need to talk to you. Later today. "
"Of course," he said, his tone turning professional. "Come by my office by three this afternoon. I’ll clear my schedule."
…
The law office smelled like old paper and the kind of furniture polish that’s been used on the same wood for fifty years. It was a heavy, serious smell. It was the kind of place that didn’t bother to look modern because it didn’t have to.
I sat in the waiting area for ten minutes, tapping my foot on the floor. My nerves were starting to fray.
I thought back to what Claire said, about how my grandmother never did anything without a reason.
I was done guessing. If I was going to find evidence that could actually stick, I needed to stand exactly where she stood when she decided this marriage was the only way forward.
The door to the inner office swung open, and Jonathan walked out. He looked like he’d been running.
His hair was a bit messy, and his tie wasn't perfectly straight, which was strange for him. He looked like a man who had rushed back just to meet me.
"Sloane, I am so sorry for the wait," he said, ushering me into his office.
"It’s okay, Jonathan," I said, taking the chair across from his desk.
Jonathan sat down. His hands shook just a little as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his eyes were still as sharp as a hawk's. He didn't miss anything.
"How are you handling everything?" he asked softly. "The engagement? I hope you’re able to put up with the terms Mr. Whitmore set."
"I'm managing," I said. It was the shortest answer I could give.
"I’m here because of the specific clause in the will. The marriage condition."
Jonathan didn't look surprised. He just nodded slowly. "I assumed that might be the reason for your visit."
"I want to know why," I said, leaning forward. My voice was flat and hard. "Why him? Why Cade Whitmore?"
Jonathan leaned back in his leather chair. The wood creaked under his weight. He looked at me for a long time, considering what to say.
"Your grandmother anticipated that question," he said.
"Did she ever mention Cade by name? I mean, outside of the formal legal documents? Did she talk about him?"
"No," he said immediately. "She referred to him only as ‘the intended party.’"
That felt deliberate.
"Did she know him well?" I pressed. "I mean. Personally?"
He shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."
My heart sank. I had been hoping for a secret connection, a reason that made sense.
If they weren't friends, and she didn’t know him personally, then this was just a calculation.
But something inside me wouldn't let go of the idea that there was more.
"Then why trust him with this?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. "Why trust him with me? She knew I knew he’d be difficult. "
Jonathan folded his hands on the desk. He looked me right in the eye.
"Your grandmother trusted few people, Sloane. You know that better than anyone.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the office pressing down on me.
"So she didn’t tell you why. She didn't give you a single real reason why Cade Whitmore had to be my husband."
"No, I’m sorry," Jonathan said.
That bothered me. It bothered me a lot. It felt like she was playing a game from the grave, and I was the only one who didn't know the rules.
"She must have said something," I insisted. I stood up and leaned over the desk. "Even off the record, Jonathan. You were her friend."
He hesitated, then leaned back. "There was one thing. A shift in her behavior that I found... unusual."
I stayed still, waiting for him to continue.
"The original draft of her will was standard, Sloane. It was focused on the estate, the charities, and your future inheritance.
But she never did specify a party when she added the marriage clause originally. Or even a timeline. Not until a few weeks before she died."
I felt a jolt of surprise. "What?"
"She called us again quite suddenly," Jonathan explained. "She was insistent that she needed to amend the will immediately. That was when she added the condition regarding Mr. Whitmore."
"A few weeks before she died?" I asked, my voice rising. My mind started racing through the dates. "What changed? Something must have happened to make her realize I needed to be married to him specifically."
Jonathan shook his head, his expression grim.
"I don't know. Perhaps she simply thought it was time to pair you with a fitting suitor. But as I said, your grandmother trusted few people. She didn't share her heart with me, only her instructions."
I sank back into my chair, my thoughts spinning. A few weeks.
That wasn't a long-term plan. That was a reaction. She had seen something or heard something that terrified her enough to change her entire legacy.
I replayed his words in my head, trying to find a loose thread to pull. Then, a small detail caught my attention.
"You said 'called us,'" I noted, leaning back in. "Was there someone else there while my grandmother was redrafting the will?"
"Yes, there was," Jonathan replied.
My heart gave a sharp kick. "Who?" I asked.