Chapter 3: Aunt Bethany’s Secret

The journal was a heavy presence, even tucked away in my backpack. I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself, but revealing its contents to Arthur or Seraphina was unthinkable. Nonna Elara seemed too fragile, too newly emboldened, to burden with such a complex secret.

There was only one other person I could think of. Aunt Bethany Caldwell.

Nonna Elara’s older sister, Bethany, lived a few towns over. She was 85, sharp as a tack, and notoriously no-nonsense. I remembered my mother always saying Bethany had “seen it all” and “didn’t suffer fools.”

The following afternoon, I made an excuse to Arthur and Seraphina about needing to visit the public library for research for my “art project.” They waved me off, clearly uninterested, happy to have me out of their hair.

The drive to Aunt Bethany’s quaint, slightly cluttered house felt long, my hands tight on the steering wheel. I clutched the journal, the old leather feeling both heavy and fragile.

Aunt Bethany greeted me with a wry smile, her eyes twinkling behind her spectacles. “Well, look who it is. My quiet little Elara. What brings you out to see an old woman like me? I trust you haven’t caused any trouble.”

“Hello, Aunt Bethany,” I said, trying to smile back. “No trouble. I actually… I needed to talk to you about something important.”

She led me to her living room, a cozy space filled with books, family photos, and the scent of lemon polish. We settled onto a worn velvet couch.

“Spit it out, then, child. I can see your mind is buzzing like a trapped bee,” she observed, her gaze piercing.

I took a deep breath. “It’s about Nonna Elara. And her late husband, Robert.”

Aunt Bethany’s smile faded. She leaned forward, her expression serious. “Robert was a good man. A little too trusting for his own good sometimes, but good.”

“I found this,” I said, pulling the journal from my bag and handing it to her. “In a hidden compartment in Nonna Elara’s writing desk. She said Robert used it for his thoughts.”

Aunt Bethany’s fingers, gnarled with age, traced the faded cover. Her eyes held a flicker of recognition, but also surprise. “Well, I’ll be. Robert’s ‘little black book,’ he used to call it. Never thought I’d see it again.”

She opened it and began to read, her lips moving silently. I watched her face, searching for reactions. When she reached the entries about Arthur, about “clouded judgment” and “ironclad provisions,” her jaw tightened.

She closed the journal slowly, her gaze fixed on me. “So, you know.”

“I know some of it,” I admitted. “Enough to know it’s important. And that Arthur and Seraphina… they haven’t been kind to Nonna Elara.”

Aunt Bethany sighed, a deep, weary sound. “No, they haven’t. And it’s only gotten worse since Robert passed. That man, he loved Elara deeply. More than anyone understood, perhaps.”

She leaned back, her eyes looking past me, as if seeing into the past. “You see, Robert always had a good head for figures. A meticulous man. Arthur… well, Arthur was his only son, and Robert tried. He truly tried.”

“What happened?” I prompted gently.

“It was about fifteen years ago,” Aunt Bethany began. “Arthur had just started his own investment firm. Robert, bless his heart, wanted to give him a leg up. He invested a significant sum, practically seed money, and even helped Arthur secure a few high-profile clients from his own network.”

She paused, shaking her head. “But Arthur, he was always chasing the flashiest, riskiest deals. He didn’t have his father’s patience, or his shrewdness. He wanted to get rich fast, like Seraphina always egged him on to do.”

“And he failed?” I asked.

“Spectacularly,” Aunt Bethany confirmed, a bitter note in her voice. “He made some truly terrible choices. Lost a fortune, not just Robert’s investment, but his own clients’ money too. It was hushed up, of course, because of the family name. Robert stepped in, quietly covered most of the losses out of his own pocket to protect Arthur’s reputation, and rebuilt what he could.”

I felt a cold knot in my stomach. This was the backstory to the cryptic journal entries.

“Robert never fully trusted Arthur with money after that,” Aunt Bethany continued. “He loved his son, yes, but he saw Arthur’s weakness. And he saw Seraphina’s grasping nature, always pushing Arthur for more, more, more.”

“He was afraid Arthur would squander everything,” I realized aloud.

“Exactly,” she nodded. “Not just for himself, but for Elara. He knew that if anything happened to him, Arthur and Seraphina would see Elara as a convenient source of funds, a means to prop up their extravagant lifestyle and Finn’s allowances. He didn’t want Elara to be a burden, or worse, at their mercy.”

“So he created a trust,” I said, remembering the journal. “With specific provisions.”

Aunt Bethany’s eyes held mine. “He did. He spent years quietly restructuring his estate, making sure Elara would be safe, no matter what. He used to say, ‘Blood may be thicker than water, Bethany, but money curdles both.'”

“He mentioned Ms. Evelyn Reed,” I said, pulling out the specific name from the journal.

“Ah, Evelyn. A smart woman. Robert’s personal lawyer, very discreet. She handled all the intricate details after Robert lost faith in the family’s regular attorneys, who were always too close to Arthur.”

“So, these provisions… they’re real?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The idea that Robert had so deliberately crafted this safety net was both heartbreaking and inspiring.

“Oh, they’re real,” Aunt Bethany confirmed, a determined glint in her eyes. “Robert was nothing if not thorough. He made sure. But he also wanted it to be a last resort. He didn’t want to cause a family rift while he was alive, hoping Arthur might change. But he wanted Elara protected if Arthur’s worst tendencies, and Seraphina’s influence, ever truly threatened her well-being.”

I thought of the lake incident, Arthur and Seraphina’s laughter, their gaslighting. It certainly qualified as “unkindness” and “neglect.”

“He didn’t want Nonna Elara to know about the specifics either,” I surmised. “He didn’t want her to feel like a pawn, or for her to be forced to use it unless absolutely necessary.”

“Precisely,” Aunt Bethany agreed. “He wanted her to live her life freely, without that burden. But he also knew she was too gentle, too conflict-averse, to stand up for herself if things got truly bad.”

“She’s different now,” I said, thinking of Nonna Elara’s silent stare, her unyielding composure. “Since the lake.”

Aunt Bethany nodded, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “I heard a little about that ‘accident.’ It doesn’t surprise me. Even the gentlest river can become a torrent when it’s pushed too far. Maybe this is the catalyst Robert knew she’d need.”

“So, what do I do?” I asked, looking at the journal. “The trust. The clause. Ms. Reed.”

“You contact Ms. Reed,” Aunt Bethany stated, her voice firm. “Tell her you’ve found Robert’s journal, and you have reason to believe the ‘provisions’ need to be reviewed. She’ll know what you mean. She’s bound by legal ethics, of course, so she won’t just spill everything, but she’ll listen.”

“But if it becomes public, if Arthur and Seraphina find out…” I began, imagining the explosion.

“They won’t like it, no,” Aunt Bethany said, a grim line to her lips. “But it’s not about what they like. It’s about what’s right. Robert ensured that Elara, Nonna Elara, would be cared for. It’s time for his true intentions to come to light.”

I felt a tremor of fear, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sense of resolute purpose. I had always been quiet, preferring to observe rather than act. But now, with the weight of Robert’s foresight and Nonna Elara’s newfound strength resting on my shoulders, I knew I couldn’t retreat.

“Thank you, Aunt Bethany,” I said, picking up the journal. “Thank you for explaining.”

“Just be careful, Elara,” she warned, her eyes softening slightly. “Arthur and Seraphina are not kind when they feel threatened, especially when it comes to their money. You’re a smart girl, but they play a dirty game.”

I nodded, clutching the journal tightly. I had witnessed their game firsthand at the lake, and again with their casual gaslighting. I knew what I was up against.

But now, I had Robert’s hidden legacy, and Aunt Bethany’s support. It felt like a formidable, albeit secret, arsenal. The truth, however complicated, was a powerful weapon.

As I drove back to Arthur and Seraphina’s house, the setting sun cast long shadows across the road. I felt a growing sense of urgency. The journal was more than just old thoughts; it was a blueprint for justice.

My next step was clear: find Ms. Evelyn Reed.