Inside was a folder I hadn’t left there.
It held a draft amendment to my family trust. Not signed, but flagged with sticky notes in Vanessa’s handwriting. She’d marked the section naming temporary oversight if something happened to me. She’d circled language about household authority over the girls’ schedules, schools, and staff.
It wasn’t theft. Not the kind people call the police for first.
It was slower than that. Cleaner. She’d been trying to remove obstacles before the wedding and step into the empty space.
Mara had been the first obstacle.
My daughters were the second.
I sat down in my own chair and stared at the pages until the words blurred. Cal didn’t say anything. He’d known me long enough to tell when silence was doing more work than talk.
“I should’ve had audio in more rooms,” I said finally.
