Her father had always called her by her full name when he wanted to say something important. When she was little, he sometimes called her Bella, but he reserved Isabella for moments when he wanted her to understand that he was speaking from the heart.
She unfolded the letter carefully.
FRANK'S LETTER:
"My dearest Isabella,
If you are reading this, it means I was unable to explain everything to you myself. I hope you will forgive me for the things I could not say while I was still here.
I know that leaving the house was not easy for you. I know that people made you feel as though choosing your own future meant turning your back on everyone who loved you.
I never believed that.
I wanted you to have a life that was yours. I wanted you to discover what you were capable of without feeling that you had to earn permission from anyone.
There are things happening within this family that I do not fully understand. I have asked questions, and I have received answers that do not always match the records in front of me.
Please do not let anyone convince you that you are selfish for asking the truth.
I established certain protections because I wanted to make sure that what I worked for would be used according to my wishes. I wanted Harbor House preserved. I wanted my care provided for. I wanted the people I loved to be protected from decisions made in anger, fear, or personal ambition.
Most importantly, I wanted you to know that you were never forgotten.
I am proud of you.
Love,
Dad."
Isabella lowered the letter.
Her eyes filled with tears, but this time they were not caused by Alexander's slap.
She had spent years carrying the belief that her father had quietly accepted the family's rejection of her. Now she understood that he had been trying to reach her in ways she had never known.
Richard waited.
ISABELLA: "He knew."
RICHARD: "He suspected that something was wrong. That is why he asked me to preserve the documents."
ISABELLA: "Did he know who was responsible?"
RICHARD: "He was investigating that question when his health declined."
Isabella looked at the final paragraph again.
She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but one stood above the rest.
ISABELLA: "What happened during the last months of his life?"
Richard opened the folder to another section.
RICHARD: "That is where the timeline becomes important."
He removed several medical appointment records and placed them beside a series of financial documents.
RICHARD: "We have been comparing the dates of his hospital visits with the dates on which major transactions were authorized. There are several inconsistencies."
ISABELLA: "How many?"
RICHARD: "Enough to require a full review."
He pointed to one entry.
RICHARD: "On this date, Frank was admitted for treatment. Yet a financial instruction bearing his signature was submitted that same afternoon."
Isabella looked at the date.
She remembered it.
It was the day she had called the estate several times because her father had not answered his phone.
She remembered Victoria telling her that he was resting and that there was no need to worry.
ISABELLA: "I called that day."
Richard nodded.
RICHARD: "I found a record of the call."
ISABELLA: "I was told he didn't want to speak to me."
Richard looked at her carefully.
RICHARD: "The telephone records show that your call was received at the estate. We are still trying to establish who answered it and what happened afterward."
Isabella felt her hands tighten around the letter.
ISABELLA: "He was in hospital, wasn't he?"
RICHARD: "Yes."
ISABELLA: "Then why did they tell me he was resting at home?"
Richard did not answer immediately.
He turned another page.
There was a note attached to the record, written in a different hand.
It contained a brief instruction concerning incoming calls from Isabella.
The note had no signature.
Isabella read it once.
Then again.
She looked at Richard.
ISABELLA: "Who wrote this?"
RICHARD: "We don't know yet."
ISABELLA: "But it came from the estate."
RICHARD: "That is what we are trying to establish."
Isabella placed the letter carefully on the table.
The past was beginning to look different.
The missed calls. The unanswered letters. The explanations that had never made sense. The sudden claim that her father was too tired to speak with her. The family insistence that she had abandoned him.
Perhaps she had not been given the opportunity to be there in the way she wanted.
And if that was true, then someone had deliberately shaped the story she had believed for years.
Richard gathered the pages into a neat stack.
RICHARD: "There is one more set of records. I did not want to show you until you had read your father's letter."
ISABELLA: "What records?"
Richard opened the briefcase and removed a thin blue folder.
RICHARD: "Correspondence concerning Harbor House and the protected fund. Some of it involves instructions sent directly to the property administrator. Other documents relate to the company that received the transfers."
He placed the folder in front of her.