At the reception, I found a moment alone. I borrowed a neighbor’s phone and called his office.
When I heard David’s voice, my throat tightened.
“It’s Margaret,” I said. “Robert left me a message. He told me to call you.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
“So he managed to do it,” David finally said.
My heart pounded.
“Do what?”
“Prepare a backup,” he replied calmly. “Margaret, listen to me carefully. Robert came to see me three days before he died. He was worried—far more than he let on.”
I glanced across the room. Michael was scanning the crowd, looking for me.
“Worried about what?”
“Documents,” David said. “And the possibility that someone might pressure you to sign them after he was gone.”
The ground felt unsteady beneath me.
“Michael?”
“I won’t name names over the phone,” he said. “But don’t sign anything. Not today. And don’t go home with him. I need to see you tonight.”
We met at a quiet diner on the edge of town. David was already waiting, his expression heavier than I had ever seen.
He didn’t waste time.
“Your husband didn’t leave everything to Michael,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What?”