Chapter 3 - the missing page in eleanor's file
Henry did not sleep that night.
Neither did Amelia.
By seven the next morning, they were sitting in his study with the door locked.
The room smelled of leather books, cedar, and the dark roast coffee Henry had made too strong.
Sunlight moved through the shutters in thin golden stripes.
On Henry's desk sat Eleanor's framed photograph.
She had been smiling beside a lake, her silver hair lifted by the wind.
Amelia remembered that day.
She had been sixteen.
Eleanor had taught her how to bait a fishing hook and then laughed when Amelia refused to touch the worm.
Henry opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
Empty.
His jaw tightened.
"I kept the document case here."
"What exactly was inside?"
"The original trust. Property transfers. Partnership agreements. Your grandmother's will. Two codicils. Several signed but unfiled corrections."
Amelia frowned.
"Unfiled?"
"Old paperwork. Mostly irrelevant now."
"Mostly?"
Henry looked at her.
"Your mother knows enough about the family business to know which documents could be manipulated."
Amelia sat very still.
Henry had three children.
Diane was the eldest.
Her two younger brothers lived in other states and held minority shares in the Hayes family's business assets.
Diane had remained close to Henry and had spent most of her adult life managing administrative matters for the family company.
She understood contracts.
She understood account access.
She understood Henry's signature.
And she had access to his house.
"Could she change your trust?"
"Not legitimately."
"That isn't what I asked."
Henry leaned back.
"With forged documents, a cooperative notary, and enough confidence, she could create confusion."
"Why?"
Henry removed his glasses.
"Because six months ago I changed the distribution structure."
Amelia stared at him.
He continued.
"Ava doesn't know."
"Does Mom?"
"She knows something changed. She doesn't know exactly what."
Amelia sensed the next answer before he gave it.
"You changed my share."
Henry nodded.
"You increased it."
Another nod.
"Why?"
"Because you work."
Amelia almost laughed.
"Grandpa."
"I'm serious."
"So does Mom."
"Your mother works when power is attached to the task."
He rubbed his forehead.
"You work because something needs doing."
Amelia said nothing.
Henry continued.
"The family company will eventually be divided among several trusts. I increased your voting interest because I trust your judgment."
"And Ava?"
"She receives money."
"Not control."
"Not unless she proves she can handle it."
Amelia looked toward Eleanor's photograph.
"Mom would hate that."
"Your mother hates anything she can't supervise."
Henry stood and walked to the wall safe.
He entered the code.
Inside were several folders.
He removed one.
"This is the executed copy of the revised trust."
Amelia opened it.
Her name appeared repeatedly.
So did Ava's.
Diane's authority was limited.
Very limited.
Amelia looked up.
"She knows?"
"She knows I removed her as successor trustee."
There it was.
The motive.
Henry sat again.
"I told her six months ago."
"What did she say?"
"She called me ungrateful."
"For what?"
"For allowing her to spend twenty-five years believing proximity was the same thing as ownership."
Amelia closed the folder.
Suddenly the archive boxes in the storage unit made more sense.
"Could she create a fake earlier version?"
"Possibly."
"And say this one is invalid?"
"Possibly."
"Would it work?"
"Not for long."
"But long enough to cause damage."
"Yes."
Amelia thought about the photocopy of her driver's license.
"Why do they need my ID?"
Henry's eyes narrowed.
"That bothers me more."
They spent the next hour checking the study.
Several files were missing.
Not random ones.
Corporate resolutions.
Old signature samples.
Vehicle registrations.
A list of account numbers.
Copies of family identification documents.
Then Henry opened a cabinet and swore.
"What?"
"My notary log."
Amelia's stomach dropped.
"You have a notary?"
"Used to. My commission expired years ago."
"But the log..."
"Contains examples of properly recorded signatures and seals."
A knocking sound came from the hallway.
Both froze.
"Henry?"
Diane.
Her voice carried through the door.
"Are you in there?"
Henry looked at Amelia.
Neither moved.
Diane knocked again.
"Dad?"
Henry calmly returned the trust copy to the safe.
Amelia slipped the photos of Willow Creek into her handbag.
Then Henry unlocked the door.
Diane entered carrying a basket of muffins.
She stopped when she saw Amelia.
"Oh."
Amelia smiled.
"Morning."
Diane looked from her daughter to Henry.
"What are you two doing?"
"Talking."
"About?"
Henry poured himself more coffee.
"The weather."
Diane stared at him.
Henry stared back.
Eventually she smiled.
"Well, I brought breakfast."
She placed the muffins on the desk.
Amelia noticed a tiny paper cut on her mother's right index finger.
Red.
Fresh.
The kind of cut people got from handling folders.
Diane turned toward Amelia.
"Where's your SUV?"
"Home."
"Ava said she might need to borrow it later."
Amelia felt something almost like amusement.
"Did she?"
"Her car is going into the shop."
"That's unfortunate."
Diane's smile became tighter.
"So you'll let her use it?"
"No."
Silence.
Henry lifted his coffee cup.
Diane blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no."
"Amelia, don't start this again."
"I'm not starting anything."
"You're being childish."
Amelia looked at her mother.
"For saying no?"
"For punishing your sister because you're jealous."
"Of what?"
Diane opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Henry hid a smile behind his coffee.
Amelia stood.
"I need to go."
Diane followed her toward the door.
"Family dinner tomorrow. Six."
"I know."
"And don't come with an attitude."
Amelia paused.
"Which attitude?"
"The cold one."
Amelia almost asked if Diane meant the one that appeared whenever Amelia stopped obeying.
Instead, she left.
Outside, she sat in the SUV.
The cabin was still.
She checked the center console.
Nothing.
The glove compartment.
Registration.
Insurance.
Owner's manual.
Then she reached beneath the passenger seat.
Her fingers touched paper.
Amelia pulled out a crumpled receipt.
WILLOW CREEK PRIVATE STORAGE.
Unit 214.
Two months prepaid.
Cash.
At the bottom was a handwritten number.
A six-digit access code.
Amelia photographed it.
Then something else caught her eye.
A second slip of paper.
Not from the storage facility.
From Palmetto Heritage Bank.
Printed across the top were the words:
IDENTITY VERIFICATION REQUIRED.
Below that was her full legal name.
Amelia Grace Hayes.
She read the next line twice.
May you like
Applicant requested credit facility: 48,000 dollars.
Amelia had never applied for a forty-eight-thousand-dollar loan.
