“My mother was a bookkeeper,” Claire said.
“She wasn’t an investor.”
“There are different ways to contribute to a business.
The issue is whether the promised interest was ever properly documented and what happened afterward.”
“Was she owed money?”
“Possibly.
I won’t pretend we know the amount or whether the agreement remained enforceable after the company reorganized.”
Claire appreciated the restraint.
She had heard too many versions of the story in which a stranger with a fortune appeared to solve a struggling person’s life.
Thomas was not promising a check.
He was handing her a complicated question whose answer might disappoint her.
Audrey showed her another paper, a signature page dated four years after Ruth had stopped working.
A portion of the document appeared to waive claims to the profit-sharing pool.
Claire recognized her mother’s name but not the handwriting.
Ruth had crossed her sevens in a distinctive way and drawn the tail of the G in Morgan beneath the line.
This signature did neither.
“Maybe somebody signed for her with permission,” Claire said.
“That’s what we need to determine,” Audrey replied.
“We don’t want an accusation built on a handwriting comparison alone.”
Thomas asked whether Ruth had retained old financial paperwork.
Claire explained that the family had kept several boxes in a storage locker after her death.
The locker bill was months overdue.
They had planned to clear it out after Jonah’s school year ended.
Thomas offered to cover the outstanding storage fees through the trust’s investigation budget, but only if Claire agreed and a written receipt explained the payment.
She refused the money at first, uncomfortable with the sense of obligation.
Audrey told her that they could seek a court order to preserve relevant records without taking control of the family’s property.
Claire asked for a day to consider.
When she left the library, she found three missed calls from Victor.
The voice message he had left was unexpectedly polite.
“Claire, this is Victor.
We had an unfortunate misunderstanding yesterday.
The situation got out of hand.
Call me so we can discuss your return to work.”
The message made her angrier than his shouting had.
He had taken her apron, called her compassion embarrassing, and told customers she did not belong in his dining room.
Now he wanted her back as though he could erase the scene with a softer tone.
She saved the recording instead of calling him.
At the crosswalk, a courier on a bicycle almost brushed her sleeve, and Claire stepped back into the rain.
Across the street, a black sedan had been parked beside the library since she arrived.
A man in the driver’s seat appeared to be looking in her direction.
She could not know whether he was following her.
