Richard handed it over.
Maren studied the trust addendum for a long moment. Then she removed a pair of reading glasses from her bag and read it again.
“This is not a casual family paper,” she said finally. “This is part of a larger estate structure.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means there should be records. Bank statements. Trustee reports. Annual notices. Tax filings.”
“I’ve never received anything.”
Maren’s expression did not change, but her pen stopped moving.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She turned to Richard. “Did you?”
“No. Not after Claire turned eighteen. Before that, I received two summaries through my attorney, then communication stopped.”
“On what basis?”
“My brother-in-law claimed Claire’s mother had assumed administrative control under a family agreement.”
Maren frowned. “Was there such an agreement?”
“No.”
The word was quiet but heavy.
Maren made another note.
“This may take time,” she said. “But we can begin by requesting the original trust file from the drafting firm. Do you remember the firm?”
Richard nodded. “Benton, Vale & Harrow. Richmond.”
At that, Maren looked up sharply.
“That firm dissolved years ago.”
Richard’s face stilled. “Dissolved?”
“Yes. One partner died, one retired, one was disbarred.”
The room cooled around that last word.
“Disbarred?” Evelyn asked.
Maren closed the folder. “For mishandling estate funds. But that does not automatically mean your grandparents’ trust was affected.”
Automatically.
It was the kind of word people used when they did not want fear to get ahead of evidence.
My left hand found the edge of Noah’s blanket.
“What happens now?”
“I’ll locate the successor custodian of the firm’s files,” Maren said. “I’ll also draft letters requiring preservation of any documents in your parents’ possession. And Claire, once you’re able, you’ll need to decide how far you want to pursue this.”
The old fear stirred again.
My mother’s warning. My father’s anger. Whitney’s voice, suddenly unsteady.
Bring it back.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said.
Maren’s gaze softened. “Seeking the truth is not the same as seeking harm.”
The sentence stayed with me long after she left.
Daniel returned that afternoon.
He knocked gently, then stepped in holding a glass vase. The tulips from the night before had been arranged inside it with water and a pale blue ribbon.
“I asked the gift shop for help,” he said. “Apparently I’m not trusted with floral design.”
Evelyn smiled. “A wise shop.”
Daniel looked tired. His engagement dinner clothes were gone, replaced by dark jeans and a sweater beneath his coat. There was no sign of Whitney.
“How are you feeling?” he asked me.
“Like I was hit by a truck.”
He blinked.
Then I smiled slightly, and his shoulders relaxed.
“I deserved that,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
He set the vase on the windowsill. Morning rain had given way to a soft gray afternoon, and the tulips looked almost luminous against it.
“I spoke with my parents,” he said.
Richard, who had been reading hospital discharge papers, looked up.
Daniel kept his attention on me. “They’re postponing any wedding discussions.”
I did not know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. It wasn’t because of you. It was because last night showed me how many things I didn’t know.”
“And Whitney?”
His mouth tightened.
“She says this is a misunderstanding.”
“Is that what you believe?”
He looked toward Noah.
“I believe people can be scared and still make choices that hurt others,” he said. “But I also believe hiding a baby from the person you’re planning to marry is not a small misunderstanding.”
There was sadness in his voice, not anger. It made him seem older.
He reached into his coat and pulled out another item. This time it was a small square envelope, pale pink, with my name printed on it in Whitney’s looping handwriting.
“I wasn’t sure whether to bring this,” he said.
Richard stood.
Daniel noticed. “It’s not a legal document. It was in Whitney’s car. She dropped her purse when I drove her home last night. This fell out.”
