The reading of my father’s will should have been solemn. Instead, it became the moment my marriage ended. When my husband Mark realized I wasn’t getting any of my father’s millions, he filed for divorce within weeks. What he didn’t know was that Dad had left me something more precious – the key to unlocking a twenty-year-old injustice.
In a nondescript storage unit, I found meticulously organized files on a case my father never stopped working on – the wrongful conviction of a woman named Lydia Chase. The evidence pointed squarely to Mark’s family. Suddenly, all those “business trips” to visit his uncle made sense. Dad had known all along.
I spent months poring over those files with a journalist friend. When the story broke, it sent shockwaves through our community. Lydia was exonerated after twenty-two years, while Mark’s family faced the consequences of their crimes. The last time Mark called, screaming about ruining his family’s name, I simply said, “Funny – you didn’t mind ruining Lydia’s life.”
Now I work with the Innocence Project, using the investigative skills my father quietly taught me over family dinners. Sometimes the greatest inheritance isn’t what’s given, but what’s uncovered.
