Chapter 6: The Letter Julian Wrote
Douglas Fenn arrived at two o'clock exactly, in a dark gray suit with a worn leather briefcase that looked like it had seen thirty years of difficult rooms.
He was older than I had expected from his voice — mid-seventies, white-haired, with the kind of unhurried manner that made everyone else in the room feel like they should slow down.
He shook my hand at the door and said, quietly, "Julian spoke of you often.
Everything he told me was accurate."
We set up in the living room.
Clara sat beside me on the sofa.
Douglas took the armchair across from us and opened his briefcase on his knees.
Garrick and Sabrina came downstairs together.
Sabrina had changed into fresh clothes and was carrying her phone.
Garrick had his attorney face on — the one he used at work, composed and slightly contemptuous, the face that said *I am the smartest person deciding how much patience to extend to this situation.*
He looked at Douglas.
"And you are?"
"Douglas Fenn.
I was your father's attorney for the last eighteen months of his life."
Sabrina glanced at Garrick.
He gave nothing back.
"We weren't aware Julian had retained separate counsel," Garrick said.
"He was aware you weren't aware," Douglas replied, pleasantly.
Garrick sat.
Sabrina sat beside him.
Douglas laid three documents on the coffee table.
"I'll begin with the estate.
The house and its contents are held in a protected trust in Elena's name.
The trust cannot be contested, transferred, or encumbered by debt without Elena's sole consent." He slid the document toward Garrick.
"You are welcome to review it."
Garrick picked it up.
Read it.
His expression didn't change, but his thumb pressed white against the paper's edge.
"Second," Douglas continued, "I have compiled and notarized records of all transfers made from Elena's personal accounts and from the joint business account, dating back twenty-six months.
Copies have already been filed with my office and with a third party." He placed the second document on the table.
"The total, as Elena now knows, is one hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars."
Sabrina's phone screen lit up on the cushion beside her.
She turned it face-down.
"Third," Douglas said, and he reached into the briefcase and withdrew an envelope, "your father asked me to deliver this to you personally, Garrick, when the time was right.
He believed you would understand why the timing mattered."
He held the envelope out.
Garrick looked at it for a long moment without moving.
Then he took it.
The room was very quiet.
Clara's shoulder was warm against mine.
Garrick opened the envelope.
He unfolded the letter inside.
He read it.
Whatever Julian had written, it took three minutes to read.
Garrick read it twice.
By the second time, his attorney face was completely gone.
What replaced it was something I hadn't seen on my son's face in many years — something raw and young and unguarded.
When he finished, he set the letter face-down on his knee.
"I'd like a moment," he said, to no one in particular.
"Of course," Douglas said.
Sabrina reached for the letter.
Garrick's hand came down on top of it.
"Not for you," he said quietly.
She pulled her hand back.
A different kind of silence filled the room — the kind that comes after something has broken and everyone can hear the pieces settling.
I did not look away from my son's face.
I had promised myself I wouldn't.
His eyes met mine.
For the first time since Julian's funeral, I saw him without the performance.
May you like
"How long did Dad know?" he asked.
"Long enough," I said, "to make sure I was protected."
