“She kept the original mortgage documents in the green metal box under the counter,” I said. “She always told me that building belonged to the family, no matter what happened to the economy.”
My fingers traced the tiny silver teapot on my charm bracelet, the metal cold against my skin. The memory of my mother’s organized ledger book felt distant now, replaced by the clutter Brenda had brought into our lives since she married my father.
Jess checked her watch, her yellow cardigan shifting as she reached for another roller. “We have exactly four hours, Callie. Have you asked your father about the current accounts?”
“He told me everything was fine,” I said. “But he will not let me look at the ledger books anymore.”
“Fine is a word people use when they do not want to talk,” Jess said, pinning the hair near my ear. “Your mother spent thirty years building that brand. You cannot let Brenda slide into the office and start changing the accounts.”
