Chapter 15 - WHAT THE BOXES HELD
Priya told us not to enter the storage unit without permission or legal authority. Michael could share the invoice, and investigators could decide what steps were warranted.
Waiting was torture. I scrubbed Lois's kitchen counters until she took the sponge out of my hand.
“You've polished that spot into another dimension,” she said.
“I don't know how to sit and be helpless.”
“Then sit and be alive.”
For the first time in days, I laughed.
Grant's investment firm sent a letter demanding Michael pay the business debt within ten days. Attached were spreadsheets of expenses Jessica had submitted. Buried among ordinary charges were payments for “reputation management,” “signature services,” and “family liaison.” The totals added up to more than $80,000.
“Is there a receipt proving what those mean?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Priya said. “But they don't look like furniture orders.”
The forensic examiner finished a preliminary comparison. The signature on the release had been assembled from features appearing on older cards and documents, with notable differences in line pressure and stroke sequence. The report stopped short of naming a forger.
It was enough to reinforce the title company's refusal to proceed with the sale.
That evening Michael called. “Jess knows I talked to you. She's threatening to tell everyone I abandoned her.”
“Have you?”
“I left because I don't know who she is.”
“Then say exactly that.”
He began to cry. I listened, and I didn't offer him money or excuses. I told him to find his own attorney and tell the truth, even the parts that embarrassed him.
Just before we hung up, he whispered, “Mom, Grant called me. He said if I testify, he'll release something from Dad's safe that will ruin our family name.”
I closed my eyes.
I hadn't known Frank kept anything in his safe worth threatening us over.
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