Walter's voice was steady, but there was effort behind it — the kind of steadiness that comes from practice, not calm.

"His name is Clifton Greer," Walter said.

"My father's younger brother.

He's the one who ended up with everything."

Andre was standing in the hallway outside the kitchen.

He could hear his parents through the wall — not words, just the low, careful sound of two people trying not to be overheard.

"Your father's brother," Andre said.

"So he's your uncle."

"Was.

I haven't called him that in a long time."

"And he knows about me?"

"He knows I have a son.

He doesn't know your name, your city, or how to find you.

But he has people who help him with things.

And when I started making calls again last month — to lawyers, to the county records office — word got back to him fast."

Andre moved further down the hallway.

"What does he want?"

"He wants what he's always wanted.

For the whole thing to go away.

For Rose to stay buried and the estate to stay exactly where it is." Walter paused.

"He's in his seventies now.

He thought he'd outlasted it.

Then I started making noise again."

"Why now?

Why after all this time?"

A breath on the other end of the line.

Slow.

Measured.

"Because I found something," Walter said.

"Something I didn't have before."

"What did you find?"

"A witness.

Someone who was in the room when my father signed that will.

Someone who saw what happened and has been too afraid to say anything for thirty years."

Andre leaned against the wall.

"They're willing to talk now?"

"She's willing to talk now.

Her name is Eunice.

She was my father's home nurse in the last months of his life.

She's eighty-one years old and she told me she's not going to d*e with it on her conscience."

"What did she see?"

"Clifton was there when the will was signed.

He brought the lawyer.

He brought the witnesses.

My father was on medication — strong medication — and Eunice says he didn't fully understand what he was signing.

She tried to say something at the time and Clifton told her if she ever repeated what she saw, he would make sure she lost her nursing license and her pension."

Andre was quiet for a moment.

"He threatened an eighty-year-old woman."

"She was fifty-one at the time.

And she believed him.

She had three kids and a mortgage." Walter's voice didn't rise.

It just got flatter.

"Clifton is very good at making people believe him."

"Is Eunice safe?"

"For now.

She's in a care facility in Greensboro.

I've been careful about how I contact her."

Andre pushed off the wall and walked slowly toward the front of the house.

Through the window, the street outside looked completely ordinary — porch lights, parked cars, a neighbor's dog moving across a lawn.

"What do you need from me?" Andre said.

"I need you to come to Raleigh.

I need you to meet Eunice with me — because if something happens to me before this goes to court, she needs to have met you.

She needs to know who she's protecting."

"You think something might happen to you?"

"I think Clifton has spent thirty years protecting what he took.

I think he is not a man who accepts losing gracefully." A pause.

"I'm not trying to frighten you, Andre.

I'm trying to be honest with you.

You deserve that much."

Andre stopped at the front door.

"I'll come," he said.

"Andre—" Walter started.

"I said I'll come.

When?"

A silence that felt like relief.

"This weekend, if you can.

There's one more thing you should know before you get here." Walter hesitated — the first real hesitation in the whole conversation.

"Clifton has a son.

His name is Marcus.

Marcus is a lawyer.

And three weeks ago, Marcus filed a motion in county court to have your grandmother's remaining personal property — the last few things she held onto — officially transferred to Clifton's estate."

Andre's hand tightened on the phone.

"She's been gone four years and he's still taking from her."

"Yes," Walter said simply.

"We'll stop it."

"I hope so." Another pause.

"Andre — I'm sorry.

For all of it.

For the years.

For the letter instead of a phone call.

For everything your mother had to carry alone."

Andre looked back toward the kitchen.

"We'll talk about that when I get there," he said.

"This weekend."

He ended the call and stood in the dark hallway for a moment.

Then he walked back into the kitchen.

His parents were sitting across from each other at the table.

Not arguing.

Not speaking.

Just sitting with the weight of the evening between them.

"I'm going to Raleigh this weekend," Andre said.

James looked up.

"Andre—"

"Pop." He said it quietly.

Firmly.

"I'm not asking."

James looked at him for a long moment.

Then he nodded once and looked back at the table.

Diane reached out and put her hand over Andre's.

"Be careful," she said.

"I will."

He squeezed her hand and let go.

He didn't know yet that by Thursday, Marcus Greer would already know his name.