My Stepdaughters Demanded I Leave After Their Mom Died—Then the Lawyer Read One Sentence That End…

My phone rang—unknown number. I almost didn’t answer.

“Mr. Whitmore? This is Patricia Hammond. I was your wife’s attorney.”

“Oh. Hello, Miss Hammond.”

“Please, call me Patricia. I heard about Margaret’s passing. I’m so very sorry for your loss. She was a remarkable woman.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Whitmore, I understand that Margaret’s daughters have approached you about the estate.”

I froze.

“How did you know that?”

“Because Margaret anticipated it. That’s why I’m calling. You have a meeting scheduled tomorrow at 10:00 a.m., correct?”

“Yes. To sign documents relinquishing my claim to the estate.”

Patricia was quiet for a moment.

“Mr. Whitmore, I’m Margaret’s estate attorney. I prepared her will. I can assure you that whatever documents Vanessa and Rebecca have prepared, they are not consistent with your wife’s wishes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to attend that meeting tomorrow. But before you sign anything, I need to be there. Please don’t argue with me on this. It’s what Margaret wanted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. Tomorrow at 10:00. What’s the address?”

I gave her the information.

“Patricia, what’s going on?”

“Margaret loved you very much, Mr. Whitmore. She also knew her daughters better than they think she did. Just trust me. Go to the meeting. Don’t sign anything until I arrive.”

She hung up before I could ask anything else.

The Day of Reckoning

The next morning, I put on my best suit, the same one I’d worn to Margaret’s funeral. Christopher had wanted to come with me, but I told him to stay in Edmonton.

This was something I needed to handle alone. The law office was in one of those glass towers downtown, 30th floor.

The receptionist directed me to a conference room where Vanessa, Rebecca, and a man in an expensive suit were waiting.

“Thomas, good. You’re on time.”

Vanessa gestured to a chair.

“This is Lawrence Chen, our attorney.”

Chen stood and shook my hand. Firm grip, calculating eyes.

“Mr. Whitmore, I understand you’ve agreed to the settlement terms. I have all the documents prepared. This shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes.”

“I thought I should have my own lawyer present,” I said.

Rebecca’s expression tightened.

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“We didn’t have an agreement. You made an offer; I said I’d consider it.”

“You said you’d sign,” Vanessa said sharply.

“I said I’d come to this meeting, and I have.”

Chen cleared his throat.

“Mr. Whitmore, of course you’re entitled to legal representation. However, I should point out that delaying this process will only cost everyone more money.”

“These documents are straightforward. You’re simply acknowledging that you’re waiving your spousal rights to the estate in exchange for the settlement amount.”

“$300,000?” I said.

“Correct.”

“And what exactly am I waiving rights to?”

Chen pulled out a folder.

“Mrs. Whitmore’s estate includes the residence at 4,127 Pinewood Crescent, valued at approximately 2.88 million. Her business, Heritage Imports, with assets totaling roughly 1.4 million. Investment portfolios worth 2.3 million and various other accounts, bringing the total estate value to approximately $6.7 million.”

“So you’re offering me less than 5% of what my wife left behind.”

Vanessa leaned forward.

“Our mother left behind. And you’re getting far more than you deserve for four years of marriage.”

The door opened. Patricia Hammond walked in.

She was probably in her mid-50s, wearing a navy suit, carrying a leather briefcase. Everything about her radiated competence and authority.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said pleasantly. “Traffic was terrible.”

Chen stood.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Patricia Hammond.”

“I’m Mr. Whitmore’s attorney.”

“And more relevantly, I was Margaret Whitmore’s estate attorney.”

She set her briefcase on the table and looked at Vanessa and Rebecca.

“Hello, girls. It’s been a while.”

Rebecca’s face had gone pale.

“What are you doing here?”

“Representing my client’s interests and ensuring that his late wife’s wishes are properly executed.”

Patricia pulled out a chair next to me and sat down.

“Now then, Mr. Chen. I understand you’ve prepared some documents for Mr. Whitmore to sign.”

Chen recovered quickly.

“Yes, a settlement agreement wherein Mr. Whitmore waives his spousal claims to the estate in exchange for a cash payment.”

“How much?”

“$300,000.”

Patricia didn’t even blink.

“I see. And you advised your clients that this is appropriate compensation given the short duration of the marriage and Mr. Whitmore’s lack of financial contribution to the estate?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

Patricia opened her briefcase and removed a document.

“Because I have Margaret Whitmore’s last will and testament here, executed eight days before her death. Would you like to know what it says?”

The Final Testament of Margaret Whitmore

The room went absolutely silent. Vanessa found her voice first.

“Our mother died of a sudden heart attack. She didn’t have time to change her will.”

“On the contrary, Margaret came to my office specifically to update her will two weeks before she died. She said she had a feeling.”

“I tried to tell her she was being morbid, but she insisted.”

Patricia looked at me.

“She loved you very much, Thomas. She wanted to make sure you were protected.”

“Protected from what?” Rebecca demanded.

Patricia smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile.