“Possibly. Or they found some indication after his death and never found the box itself.”
I sat across from him in one of the hard leather chairs clients probably hated. “My father said Grandpa lied to me. My mother says there are things he did that would break my heart. Is any of that true?”
Darius took off his glasses again, buying time.
“People in your parents’ position often attack the credibility of the dead because the dead cannot cross-examine them,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.” He put the glasses back on. “Your grandfather was not a perfect man.”
I leaned back slowly. “Okay.”
“He could be proud. Harsh. He held grudges longer than was useful. He was not above using silence as punishment.” Darius folded his hands. “But in all the years I represented him, I never knew him to take what was not his, fabricate evidence, or prey on the vulnerable. If your mother is trying to level moral ground, she is doing it with a shovel.”
I exhaled, something tight loosening a fraction.
“Did he ever tell you why he left the house to me specifically?”
