I showed her the photographs taken before Nora removed the envelope.
She asked whether I had touched the papers before photographing them.
I said no.
She asked whether anyone else had access to the garage.
I listed the people who had keys and explained the security system.
Lena then asked a question I had not expected.
She wanted to know whether my father had ever mentioned Victor Bellamy.
I said I could not remember hearing the name before the recent offers to buy the car.
She asked whether my father had known Daniel Finch.
I said he might have, because the photograph showed Daniel standing beside the Mustang.
But I had no direct knowledge of their relationship.
Lena thanked me for resisting the temptation to fill the gaps.
She said incomplete memories often became misleading stories when witnesses tried too hard to help.
After the interview, she told me the county had requested business records from several companies connected to the old dealership.
She would not discuss the details.
She also said Rebecca Finch had provided a statement and additional photographs.
I asked whether there was any indication Daniel was alive.
Lena paused before answering.
She said his disappearance had never been conclusively explained.
She would not promise a resolution that the evidence might not support.
I walked to my truck carrying that answer like a weight.
Rebecca had spent more than twenty years waiting for someone to tell her what happened to her brother.
I had spent less than a month wondering about the envelope.
The difference made me ashamed of my impatience.
That evening, Rebecca sent me a photograph of Daniel at a county fair.
He was holding a paper cup and laughing at something outside the frame.
He looked young enough to believe that telling the truth would always be enough.
I saved the photograph beside the image of my father working on the Mustang.
I hoped the two men had understood each other better than the surviving records suggested.
Chapter 19: The Hearing Nobody Expected
The preliminary injunction hearing began on a rainy Monday morning.
Karen entered the courthouse with Victor and a lawyer carrying two large binders.
She wore a cream jacket and walked as though she expected the room to rise for her.
Nora sat beside me and arranged our documents in a neat stack.
The judge asked Karen’s attorney to explain why the association needed immediate possession of a privately owned vehicle.
