Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN AT THE DOOR
Ruth lived forty minutes away.
She opened her door wearing paint-stained jeans and an expression that hardened when she saw Dad.
“Walter.”
“We need to talk.”
“You’re twenty-two years late.”
I stepped forward.
“Aunt Ruth?”
She looked at me.
Her anger faltered.
“Blake.”
Inside, photographs covered the hallway.
Mom at seventeen.
Mom holding me.
Mom and Ruth standing beside a lake with their arms around each other.
An entire side of my childhood I had been kept from.
Ruth listened while Adrian explained the trust.
Then she went to her desk and returned with a folder.
“I’ve been asking for complete accounts for years.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dad?”
Her eyes cut toward him.
“Because George told me he had authorized everything.”
Dad shook his head.
“He told me you blamed me for losing the company.”
Ruth stared.
“He said you didn’t want contact.”
“He told me the same.”
The silence that followed was worse than shouting.
George hadn’t just taken money.
He had placed himself between grieving people and told each of them the other had turned away.
Ruth sat slowly.
“I sent letters.”
“We moved twice,” Dad said.
“I sent them through George’s office.”
He shut his eyes.
Adrian let them have a moment.
Then he showed Ruth the approval bearing Dad’s signature.
She examined it.
“That signature came from the 2004 license amendment.”
Dad looked up.
“How do you know?”
“I witnessed it.”
She found her copy.
The same slant.
The same broken line through the H.
The same tiny ink spot beneath the final letter.
Someone had copied it.
Now we could prove the source.
Ruth placed both pages side by side.
“Who’s certifying the new transaction?”
“Martin Keene.”
She made a noise of disgust.
“Of course.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Fiona.
I NEED TO SEE YOU. ALONE.
Then a second.
MY FATHER KNOWS YOU FOUND RUTH.
I showed Adrian.
He called his office and asked for the meeting records to be preserved.
Ruth stood.
“I’m coming with you.”
Dad looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She picked up Mom’s letter.
“That’s different from staying home.”
As we reached the door, Fiona sent one more message.
A photograph.
It showed an internal contact sheet from George’s office.
My name appeared near the top.
May you like
Beside it were three words.
APPROACH THROUGH FIONA.
