And now a bank review had found discrepancies.
“They need you to ratify everything,” Grant said. “If you sign now, it makes the old transfer look legitimate.”
“So Mom didn’t come because Dad almost died.”
Grant looked down.
“She came because the bank froze the deal four days after he collapsed.”
I sat silently.
For fifteen years, my parents had acted as if I were dead.
Then I became useful.
And suddenly they believed in family.
I looked at the brass key beside Nana Ruth’s letter.
“What does this open?”
Grant’s face changed.
“I’ve never seen it.”
Three mornings later, another piece fell into place.
Silas was making pancakes.
Ren slept in a bassinet nearby.
I had spent half the night searching public records tied to the agency.
Dad’s collapse happened at his house on Sycamore Street.
I looked at Silas.
“Which crew answered the cardiac call on Sycamore?”
His spatula stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
My skin prickled.
“Silas.”
He turned slowly.
“That was my crew.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“What?”
He switched off the burner.
“That was me, Colleen.”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“You knew it was him?”
“Not until I walked into the kitchen.”
