Chương 13
“No lawyer.”
“No Patricia?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Certainly no Patricia.”
I let her in.
She placed the food on the desk.
“I guessed bagels.”
“You guessed correctly.”
“I remember some things.”
There was too much behind that sentence.
Neither of us touched it.
Lily crawled toward Grandma, stopped two feet away, and studied her.
Grandma crouched carefully.
“Hello, Lily.”
Lily stared.
Grandma held out one finger.
Lily slapped it.
Grandma looked at me.
“I assume that is affection.”
“That’s basically a declaration of loyalty.”
For the first time since Thanksgiving dinner began, Grandma smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
“I received a message from Patricia at three this morning.”
“What did she want?”
“For me to remember that families survive mistakes by keeping matters private.”
I spread cream cheese across half a bagel.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
I looked at her.
“That must have hurt.”
“It did.”
I almost smiled.
Grandma watched me eat.
Then she said, “Richard told me you asked for separate counsel.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
The approval irritated me.
“You don’t have to endorse everything I do.”
“I’m aware.”
“Because it feels a little like you’re trying to prove you’ve learned something in twelve hours.”
Her expression changed.
“That is probably fair.”
I put the knife down.
“I don’t need you to become a different person overnight.”
“I’m not capable of it.”
“Good.”
“I would prefer a week.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Grandma looked pleased with herself.
That annoyed me too.
Then Lily crawled between us and pulled herself upright using Grandma’s knee.
Grandma froze.
“Do I move?”
“No.”
“What if she falls?”
“She falls constantly.”
“That seems unsafe.”
“She’s nine months old.”
Lily let go with one hand.
Grandma immediately caught her around the waist.
“You said she falls constantly.”
“She does.”
“You sounded unconcerned.”
“I’m tired.”
Grandma sat on the carpet in her expensive wool pants and let Lily pull at the gold chain around her neck.
For a moment, she looked less like Margaret Whitmore, family authority, and more like an older woman who had missed too much of her great-granddaughter’s first year.
I hated that the sight softened me.
I hated even more that I wanted it to.
“Maya Levin is coming at nine.”
Grandma nodded.
“I’ll leave before then.”
“I want you to send me the messages with Patricia.”
“I already had Richard export them.”
“To him?”
“To a secure folder.”
My irritation returned.
“Grandma.”
“I know.”
She lifted one hand.
“I should have asked.”
“Yes.”
“I can send them wherever you tell me.”
I gave her the new email address.
She typed it carefully.
“Anything else?”
“The transfer records.”
“Yes.”
“And every message with Mom about me.”
That made her pause.
“There are not many.”
“Still.”
“All right.”
I watched her attach the files.
When she finished, she did not hand me the phone like proof.
She simply put it away.
At eight-forty, she stood.
Lily protested when Grandma untangled the chain from her fingers.
“I’ll see you later.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe.”
Grandma nodded.
“Maybe.”
That mattered too.
Maya arrived twelve minutes early carrying a leather tote and wearing sneakers with a dark business suit.
She was probably in her forties, with straight black hair cut at her jaw and a voice that suggested she had no interest in wasting anyone’s time.
She sat at the small desk and asked me to start from the first thing I personally knew, not what anyone else had inferred.
That distinction slowed me down.
I told her about Grandma’s question.
The transfers.
Patricia’s admissions.
Robert.
Mom.
Evan’s letter.
Mark.
The documents.
Maya took notes by hand.
She interrupted often.
“Who heard that?”
“Did you see the account balance yourself?”
“Was that a text or a call?”
“Do you still have the original envelope?”
“Who touched the letter after you received it?”
By the time I finished, almost an hour had passed.
Lily was asleep against my chest.
Maya looked at her notes.
“There are several separate issues.”
I waited.
“The transferred money is one.”
She tapped the page.
“Your husband’s debt is another.”
Another tap.
“The cabin documents may be a third.”
“May be?”
“I haven’t authenticated anything.”
“Patricia admitted Evan didn’t sign the deed.”
“She admitted that to you verbally.”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone else on the call?”
“No.”
“Was it recorded?”
“No.”
I felt foolish.
Maya seemed to notice.
“Do not start wishing every conversation had been recorded.”
“Why?”
“Because real cases are built from more than dramatic moments.”
She leaned back.
“Bank records matter.”
“Emails matter.”
“Metadata may matter.”
“Original documents matter.”
“Other people’s testimony matters.”
“Patterns matter.”
I looked at Evan’s letter.
“And this?”
“It matters.”
“But?”
“But it proves what Evan said or believed when he wrote it.”
“It does not automatically prove what Patricia did afterward.”
That disappointed me even though I had asked for someone who would say no.
Maya continued.
“The first practical question is how much money remains and whether more can disappear.”
“About nineteen thousand of Grandma’s money may still be in the account.”
“May?”
“Robert said the balance was thirty-one thousand and about twelve was already there.”
“Then we treat nineteen as an estimate until the records establish it.”
She picked up her phone.
“I want your permission to contact Richard.”
“For what?”
“To coordinate preservation requests involving your grandmother’s transfers.”
“That doesn’t make him my lawyer?”
“No.”
“And you won’t tell Grandma everything?”
“Not without your permission.”
I nodded.
“Do it.”
Maya made the call in front of me.
She was polite with Richard and almost aggressively precise.
She asked for the transfer confirmations, messages, and any communications showing the stated purpose of the funds.
Then she asked whether Grandma would sign a declaration confirming that the money was sent exclusively for my benefit and Lily’s support.
Richard said he would discuss it with her.
Maya ended the call.
“That was fast.”
“Nothing happened yet.”
“You asked.”
“Asking is fast.”
She capped her pen.
May you like
“Results are slower.”
I appreciated that answer.
