And Neil, who had recently helped me retrieve some statements.
Mavis’s phone rang.
“Excuse me.”
She stepped into the hallway.
My granddaughter had shown me how to use the camera on my phone properly months earlier.
For once, I was grateful I had listened.
I photographed every page.
When Mavis returned, I pushed the folder back.
“I need another day.”
Her lips tightened.
“Noreen, waiting only makes things harder.”
“Then one more day won’t kill us.”
She stared at me.
Finally, she gathered the papers.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
After she left, I called Neil.
He came over that afternoon.
The moment I mentioned the brokerage statement, his face changed.
“I gave Aunt Mavis copies.”
“Why?”
“She said she was helping you organize things.”
“Did I ask her to?”
“No, but… Mom, you’ve just lost Dad. I thought—”
“You thought I couldn’t handle my own bank statement?”
His eyes filled with shame.
“I thought I was helping.”
I believed him.
That almost made it worse.
Mavis hadn’t only underestimated me.
She had used my son’s concern for me to get information she had no right to possess.
The next morning, I returned to Mr. Keaton’s office.
This time, he opened a small safe.
Inside was another envelope.
The trust documents were there, just as Harlan promised.
So was a letter from his doctor confirming that Harlan had been mentally competent when everything was signed.
Then Mr. Keaton handed me one last packet.
Inside were copies of the old documents involving Mavis.
Her father’s forged signature.
Bank records.
And a handwritten confession Mavis had given Harlan thirty-one years earlier when he agreed not to report her.