Rosa wanted to know whether her apprentice could remain on the payroll through the winter.
Anton asked whether the oldest press would finally be replaced.
Daniel answered what he could and admitted what he did not know.
I watched our father’s former employees challenge us without fear.
Their questions were uncomfortable but fair.
Afterward Rosa pulled me aside.
She said the recruiter who contacted her had mentioned a meeting at my house.
I asked her to repeat the words as closely as she remembered them.
The recruiter said our family was divided and that the business would soon be sold to someone who understood efficiency.
Rosa had refused to discuss private employee information.
She said the call left her feeling that someone wanted her to help destabilize the shop before negotiations ended.
I asked whether she would tell Leah directly.
She agreed.
On the drive home I realized how much harm could grow from a few stolen sentences.
A person did not need control over every conversation to undermine a workplace.
Sometimes one private disagreement was enough to create a convincing rumor.
Chapter 39: The Photograph of My Mother
My mother’s portrait had always stood beside the clock.
She wore a blue sweater and looked slightly annoyed because my father had taken the picture before she was ready.
I remembered Patricia lifting the frame during a visit and asking whether the photograph could be restored.
She said she knew someone who repaired faded prints.
I declined because I liked the image exactly as it was.
After the camera was found, the portrait became another object I avoided touching.
One evening I carried it to the kitchen and cleaned the glass.
There was a small adhesive mark on the back of the frame.
I did not know whether it came from ordinary tape or the camera installation.
I photographed the mark and called Sato rather than trying to test it myself.
An evidence technician examined the frame with my permission.
She did not tell me what the adhesive meant.
I was disappointed, then ashamed of the disappointment.
I had begun to expect every small mark to explain a larger mystery.
Not every scratch was evidence.
Not every object in my house had been changed by Patricia.
I put the portrait back on the shelf after the technician finished.
I remembered my mother telling me that a home was where people should be able to be unguarded.
For weeks I had felt that Patricia had stolen that possibility forever.
