Chapter 3 - The Notice from Marilyn Freeman
On Monday afternoon, exactly at 2:00 PM, an email pinged into my inbox.
It was a formal letter attached as a PDF from Marilyn Freeman, senior partner at Freeman & Associates, Attorneys at Law, located in a limestone office building on Main Street in downtown Kansas City.
The subject line read: NOTICE OF ESTATE PROCEEDING / MANDATORY APPEARANCE — ESTATE OF DONALD MURRAY.
I opened the document with trembling fingers. The letter stated that as an interested party and designated representative regarding certain pre-death provisions, my presence was specifically requested at a preliminary estate review meeting scheduled for Tuesday morning at 10:00 AM in the firm's main conference room.
I stared at the screen, my breath catching.
Kevin had assured me—both verbally and through the manila envelope of divorce papers—that Donald’s entire estate went directly to him as the sole legal heir. He had told me I had no standing, no claim, and no reason to be anywhere near the legal proceedings.
So why was Donald’s longtime attorney summoning me specifically by name?
I called the firm's main number directly. Marilyn Freeman’s administrative assistant answered on the second ring, her voice crisp and professional.
"Freeman & Associates, how may I direct your call?"
"Hello, my name is Amanda Murray," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I received a notice for tomorrow morning regarding Donald Murray’s estate. I wanted to make sure there wasn't an administrative error. My husband—Kevin Murray—is Mr. Murray's son and sole heir. Is it possible my name was included by mistake?"
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, the muffled sound of paper rustling, and then the assistant’s voice came back, smooth and definitive.
"There is no mistake, Mrs. Murray. Miss Freeman reviewed the distribution list personally this morning. Your presence at tomorrow’s meeting is specifically requested by the testator’s explicit instructions."
The testator. Donald.
"I understand," I said, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I’ll be there."
When I told Michelle that evening over dinner, she dropped her fork with a loud clatter against the ceramic plate.
"I knew it!" she shouted, pointing a finger at me across the table as her middle son looked up from his homework with wide eyes. "I told you Donald wasn't the kind of man to let that little snake of a son take everything without putting up a guardrail. Donald loved you, Amanda. He watched how Kevin treated you for years, and he wasn't blind."
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"I don't want his money, Michelle," I said quietly, stirring my cooling soup. "I just want a fair division so I can buy a small apartment, keep Ruby in her preschool, and start my bookkeeping practice full-time."
"Well, whatever Donald left you, you take it without a single second of guilt," Michelle said firmly. "And if Kevin throws a tantrum in a lawyer's office, I hope Marilyn Freeman has security guards standing by with cattle prods."
