“Where is the rest?” Bessie asked.
Angela turned another page.
“Some appears spent. Some appears transferred. Some may still be recoverable.”
“Transferred to whom?”
“Mostly Lennox. Some to entities connected to her.”
Bessie sat back.
“And Terrence?”
“There are documents he signed.”
That mattered.
Angela did not let Bessie turn her son into an innocent child because the truth had become painful.
“He participated in some decisions,” she said. “We also have evidence he may have been deceived about others. Both can be true.”
Bessie closed her eyes.
That sounded like Terrence.
He had always hated conflict. As a boy, he would agree to anything if it ended an argument. As a man, that habit could become consent on paper long after it stopped being consent in practice.
“Does he know you found this?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll tell him.”
Angela looked at her carefully.
“Do not confront Lennox alone.”
“I won’t.”
For once, Bessie meant it without qualification.
She asked Terrence to meet her at the attorney’s office the next morning.
She did not invite Lennox.
He arrived twenty minutes early.
He looked worse than he had on the porch.
Same jacket. Same exhaustion. No wife beside him.
When Angela placed the authorization in front of him, Terrence stared at the signature.
His face collapsed.
“I didn’t sign that.”
Bessie watched him.
