He opened a drawer and took out a thick folder with a silver crest on the cover.
“Four months ago, Celia Langford executed a trust. Three million, eight hundred thousand dollars, for the sole benefit of her grandson, Eli Fenton Langford, until his twenty-fifth birthday. She named a trustee. Not Spencer.”
He slid a page across the desk.
TRUSTEE: Laura Anne Fenton.
I stared at my own name.
“She wanted it to be you. She said, and I’m quoting her notes, ‘Laura is the only one of them who ever packed a lunch.’ The card is the trustee’s access instrument. It’s useless to anyone else. It requires a code, which is in a letter she wrote to you. Spencer was supposed to deliver that letter in May. It would appear he did not.”
“He kept it.”
“He kept it. And then, I suspect, he went looking for the card, which was in a sealed envelope in Celia’s desk, in a house he inherited. Which is also where Eli spends every other weekend.”
