Every eye in the yard turned to me. I could see the pity, the morbid curiosity, the discomfort. My parents looked stricken, my father half-standing as if unsure whether to intervene. And then, to everyone’s surprise, including my own, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. It was not a happy smile, but the kind that comes when something is so outrageously false that it becomes almost comical.
I pressed my lips together, trying to contain the inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside me. «Oh, I see,» I said finally, my voice calm and even. I took a sip of water to buy time, to push down the urge to laugh in my sister’s face. «May I see this will, Cassandra?»
Her confident expression faltered slightly. She clearly had not expected this reaction. Slowly, she walked over and handed me the document: a typed page with what appeared to be Adam’s signature at the bottom. I scanned it quickly, noting inconsistencies immediately. The formal language was all wrong, nothing like the legal documents I had seen Adam bring home. And the signature, while similar to Adam’s, was clearly forged. The connecting stroke between the ‘A’ and ‘d’ was wrong, the final flourish too pronounced.
I carefully folded the paper and handed it back to her. «Thank you for sharing this with me. I think I need to go now.»
«That is it?» Cassandra asked, confusion evident in her voice. «You are not going to say anything else?»
«Not right now,» I replied, calmly gathering my purse. «This is Lucas’s day. We can discuss this privately later.»
I said goodbye to my shell-shocked parents, promising to call them soon. As I walked to my car, I could hear the murmurs behind me, the party atmosphere completely shattered. Once inside my car, safely out of view, I finally let out the laugh that had been threatening to escape. It started small, then grew until tears were streaming down my face—not tears of joy, but a strange mix of grief, anger, and incredulous disbelief at my sister’s audacity.
Because there was something Cassandra did not know, something Adam and I had never shared with anyone. Something that made her elaborate lie not just hurtful but impossible.
The truth about Adam and Cassandra began three years ago, long before Lucas was even conceived. We had invited my sister over for dinner to celebrate her new job at a marketing firm, her longest employment to date. Adam had prepared his famous lasagna, and we had opened a good bottle of wine.
It was a pleasant evening until I excused myself to take a work call from a client having a design emergency. The call took longer than expected, nearly 20 minutes of talking a wealthy client through hanging artwork. When I returned to the dining room, the atmosphere had changed. Adam looked uncomfortable, and Cassandra was sitting much closer to him than when I had left, her hand on his arm, laughing at something I had not heard.
I thought nothing of it at the time. Cassandra had always been affectionate, and the wine had been flowing freely. But later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, Adam seemed troubled. «There is something I need to tell you,» he said, sitting on the edge of our bed. «And I do not want it to cause problems between you and your sister. But I also do not want to keep secrets from you.»
He explained that while I was on the phone, Cassandra had made a pass at him. Nothing dramatic, just inappropriate comments about how lucky I was to have him, followed by a suggestion that he deserved someone who could truly appreciate him. When he had rebuffed her, she laughed it off as a joke, saying he was too sensitive if he thought she was serious.
I was hurt but not entirely surprised. Cassandra had always pushed boundaries. We decided to let it go as an isolated incident, something caused by wine and her usual competitive nature. But it was not isolated. Over the next few months, Cassandra found ways to touch Adam whenever I was not looking, sent text messages that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious, and once showed up at his office uninvited, asking him to lunch.
Each time, Adam gently but firmly maintained boundaries and told me immediately afterwards. After the office incident, we confronted my parents about Cassandra’s behavior. It did not go well. They suggested Adam was misinterpreting friendly gestures and that Cassandra just looked up to him as a brother. My mother even suggested, with good intentions but terrible judgment, that perhaps Adam was feeling flattered by the attention and exaggerating the situation.
That night, Adam and I made a decision. We would create distance from Cassandra without causing a family rift. We declined invitations that included her, made sure we were never alone with her, and Adam blocked her number on his phone after she sent a particularly suggestive late-night message.
Then came the medical issue that changed everything. Adam had been experiencing pain for weeks before finally seeing a urologist. The diagnosis was a varicocele, an enlargement of veins within the scrotum, requiring surgery. The procedure went well, but there was a complication. The doctor recommended a vasectomy during the same surgery due to the extensive nature of the varicocele and the potential for recurrence. It was a difficult decision, especially given our past fertility struggles, but we agreed it was the right choice for Adam’s health.
The vasectomy was performed two years before Lucas was conceived. We kept this medical information private. Even our parents did not know. After years of invasive questions about our childless status, we had learned to protect our privacy around reproductive issues. The only people who knew were Adam, myself, and Adam’s doctors.
After the surgery, as Adam was recovering, he made a prediction that seemed paranoid at the time. «Cassandra is not done,» he said, sitting in our garden with an ice pack discreetly positioned. «I have a feeling she might try something more drastic one day.» I laughed it off, but Adam was serious.
The next week, he scheduled an appointment with our family attorney, James Wilson. I went with him, listening as Adam detailed Cassandra’s behavior and his recent medical procedure. James recommended documenting everything: the unwanted advances, the medical records confirming the vasectomy, even text messages and emails from Cassandra.
«You never know what might become relevant,» James advised. «Better to have documentation and never need it than wish you had it later.»
We followed his advice, creating a file of everything related to the situation. Adam also updated his will properly through official channels, making sure everything would come to me in the event of his death. James kept copies of all documents, and we placed the originals in a safety deposit box at our bank. «Just in case,» Adam had said when we locked the box. «Though I plan to be around to deal with any of Cassandra’s drama for at least another 50 years.»
The morning after Lucas’s birthday party, I drove straight to the bank. The manager, who had known Adam and me for years, expressed condolences as he led me to the vault. I sat alone in the small viewing room and opened the box Adam and I had filled with what he jokingly called our «disaster preparation kit.»
Inside was exactly what I needed: Adam’s legitimate will, notarized and properly executed, leaving everything to me; medical records detailing his vasectomy two years before Lucas’s conception, making it biologically impossible for him to be the father; a journal Adam had kept documenting every inappropriate interaction with Cassandra, including dates, times, and exact quotes; printed copies of text messages she had sent him; and a letter from our attorney confirming that he had witnessed Adam’s legitimate will and was available to verify its authenticity.
At the bottom of the box was a sealed envelope with my name written in Adam’s familiar handwriting. With trembling fingers, I opened it and began to read.
«My dearest Bridget, if you are reading this, something has happened to me, and you have needed to access these documents. I hope it is many years from now when we are old and grey and Cassandra’s antics are nothing but a distant memory we laugh about. But if not, if the worst has happened and she has tried to hurt you in my absence, please know that I tried to prepare for every possibility. Use these documents to protect yourself. I know how much you value family, how loyal you are to those you love. But you deserve to be protected from those who would take advantage of that beautiful heart of yours. I love you beyond words, beyond time. Whatever happens, know that. Adam.»
Tears streamed down my face as I read his words, feeling his love and protection reaching out to me even after death. My practical, thoughtful husband had anticipated this. Not the specific scenario, perhaps, but the possibility that Cassandra might try to use his death to her advantage. I carefully returned everything to the box except what I needed: copies of the medical records, the legitimate will, and selected journal entries. Then I called James Wilson and scheduled an appointment for that afternoon.
James Wilson’s law office was in a converted brownstone in downtown Boston, the kind of place that exuded old money and discretion. I had only been there a handful of times with Adam, but the receptionist recognized me immediately, her expression softening with sympathy. «Mrs. Preston,» she said, standing to greet me. «Mr. Wilson is expecting you. Please accept my condolences for your loss.»
James was in his 60s, with silver hair and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He had been Adam’s mentor when Adam first joined the firm, and they had maintained a close friendship even after Adam moved to a different practice. He stood when I entered, coming around his desk to embrace me briefly. «Bridget,» he said, gesturing for me to sit. «I was devastated to hear about Adam. He was one of the good ones.»
«He was,» I agreed, my voice catching slightly. «And it seems he was also right about preparing for the worst with my sister.»
I explained what had happened at the birthday party, showing him the forged will Cassandra had presented. James examined it, his expression growing increasingly concerned. «This is an amateurish forgery,» he said finally. «The language is all wrong, and the signature, while similar, would never stand up to expert analysis. But the fact that she created this at all is deeply troubling.»
I showed him the documents from the safety deposit box: the medical records confirming Adam’s vasectomy, the legitimate will, and Adam’s journal documenting Cassandra’s behavior over the years. «Adam was nothing if not thorough,» James said, reviewing the materials. «These medical records alone disprove her claim about Lucas’s paternity. The vasectomy was performed two years before the child was conceived. It is biologically impossible for Adam to be the father.»
«What should I do?» I asked. «I do not want to humiliate her publicly, but I cannot let her take half of our home based on a lie.»
James leaned back in his chair, considering. «First, we need more information. I recommend hiring a private investigator to look into Cassandra’s current situation. There is likely a motivation beyond simple cruelty here. People rarely attempt fraud of this nature without financial pressure.»
He recommended Frank Delaney, a former police detective who now worked as a private investigator, often on cases for the firm. I agreed, and James made the call immediately, explaining the situation in broad strokes. Frank arrived an hour later, a stocky man with a Boston accent and a no-nonsense attitude. He took detailed notes as I explained the situation, asking pointed questions about Cassandra’s relationship history, employment, and financial status.
I realized how little I actually knew about my sister’s current circumstances. We had grown further apart since Lucas’s birth, with my attempts to be involved as an aunt often rebuffed or taken for granted. «I will need a few days,» Frank said when I had finished. «My preliminary focus will be on her financial situation and relationship with the child’s actual father. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?»
I shared what little I knew about Tyler, the bartender Cassandra had been dating when she became pregnant. I had only met him a handful of times, and he had seemed uninterested in family gatherings. «Last I heard, they were still together, but she rarely mentions him anymore,» I said. «He was not at the party yesterday, which I thought was strange for the father of the birthday boy.»
Frank nodded, making another note. «That is a good starting point. I will be in touch soon.»
Three days later, Frank called, requesting a meeting at James’s office. When I arrived, both men were reviewing documents spread across the conference table. «Mrs. Preston,» Frank began once we were seated, «I have uncovered some concerning information about your sister’s situation.»
According to his investigation, Cassandra was in dire financial straits. She had accumulated over $75,000 in debt, spread across credit cards, personal loans, and medical bills for Lucas, who had needed surgery for a heart defect shortly after birth. Her credit score was abysmal, and she had been rejected for three additional loans in the past month alone.
«She is also facing eviction,» Frank continued, sliding a document across the table. «This is a copy of the notice her landlord filed last week. She has until the end of the month to pay four months of back rent or vacate the property.»
As for Tyler, he had apparently abandoned Cassandra and Lucas shortly after the birth, moving to Seattle with a new girlfriend. He was paying minimal child support, barely $200 a month, and even that irregularly. «I also found these,» Frank said, producing printouts of text messages. «She has been telling friends about her plans to claim part of your house for weeks. These are messages between her and a friend named Jenna.»
I recognized the name as the woman who had opened the door at the party. The messages were damning: «Adam’s death is terrible, but maybe it’s finally my chance to get what I deserve. That house is worth at least $800,000 now. If I play this right, I’ll have a nice nest egg for Lucas and me.»
