“That’s not surprising,” Clara said.
Daniel looked at me.
“There’s a folder labeled Marion Caldwell.”
The room went still.
“My mother?” I whispered.
Daniel nodded slowly.
“And inside that folder is a scanned agreement dated sixteen years ago. It appears to bear your mother’s signature.”
Thomas turned pale.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“Why?” Daniel asked.
My father gripped the edge of the table.
“Because sixteen years ago, Marion was already too sick to sign legal documents without assistance. And because on that exact date…”
He stopped.
Clara took one step toward him. “Dad?”
Thomas looked at the notebooks, then at me, his face filled with a fear deeper than anything he had shown since returning.
“On that exact date,” he said, “Jason Mitchell came to our house for dinner for the first time.”
