The Reading of the Will
The Second Will

The Other Office

August 25, 2026 · Part 4 of 10 · 2 min

The office off Cardigan Street turned out to be barely an office at all — a converted storefront wedged between a shuttered dry cleaner and a nail salon, with a hand-painted sign reading J. JOFFE, NOTARY & DOCUMENT SERVICES, and hours that seemed to be more suggestion than schedule.

It took us two visits before the door was even unlocked.

The man inside was younger than I'd pictured, maybe forty, with the harried look of someone running a business out of habit rather than ambition. When Georgia said our aunt's name, something shifted in his face.

"Solange Kilbride," he said slowly. "Yes. I remember her. Sharp woman. Brought her own witness both times, wouldn't let me suggest one, said she'd learned that lesson from someone else's mess."

"Do you have the document?" I asked. "The will she signed here?"

He was already shaking his head before I finished. "That's the thing. I would have it — I keep everything, it's the law, seven years minimum — except three months ago someone broke the back window of this office. Took the hard drive, took two filing boxes." He gestured at a gap on the shelf behind him, dust outlining where something used to sit. "Police said it looked random. Kids, probably. Nothing else in this neighborhood got hit, though, which I always thought was strange for random."

Georgia's hand found my arm. "When exactly?"

He checked a logbook. "Second week of April."

I did the math without wanting to. Aunt Solange had died the third week of April. The break-in had happened seven days before.

"Do you remember anything about the will itself?" I pressed. "Anything at all?"

"I remember she named you two," he said. "By name, specifically, more than once in the document — she was particular about that, said she didn't want any confusion about who she meant. And I remember the number." He hesitated, like even now it felt indiscreet to say it out loud. "It was a lot more than a box of photographs, put it that way."

"Do you keep copies anywhere else? Cloud storage, a registry, anything?"

He rubbed his jaw, thinking. "There's a private will registry a lot of independent notaries use now, since — well, since things like this happen more than you'd think. I might have logged the filing number there before the drive went missing. I'd need to check the registry's records, not mine."

"Please," Georgia said. "Please check."

He was reaching for his computer when my phone lit up on the counter between us — Priscilla's name on the screen, a text arriving mid-motion.

I know you went to see Odalys. We need to talk before you do something you'll regret.

Continue the story Part 5: Something in the Car →

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