Lennox looked directly at me.
“You wanted your money. You’re getting it.”
“Without the statement,” I said.
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
“You have no idea what you’re putting Terrence through.”
My son stared at the water glass before him.
The old reflex rose so quickly I almost reached for him. Feed him. Cover him. Make the consequences smaller before they could touch his skin.
Evelyn’s sleeve brushed mine.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” she said.
Lennox gave a short laugh.
“Actually, she should know what she’s deciding.”
Terrence went white.
His lawyer turned toward him. “Let me handle this.”
But Lennox was already opening her folder.
“You think I copied that signature? Ask your son.”
The room seemed to lose its air.
Terrence’s chair scraped backward, then stopped.
“Mom.”
I looked at the hand resting on the table. I had taught that hand to hold a pencil, wrapping my fingers over his while he wrote his name.
“Did you?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
He wiped his mouth once.
“She said it was just paperwork. That we’d repay you after the business started earning. But I knew you hadn’t agreed. I signed anyway.”
Lennox leaned back.
“So perhaps we can stop pretending I’m the only person responsible.”
“No,” Terrence said.
It was not loud, but it halted her.
“I signed it. That’s mine. You told me there was a store. You told me the wire was for a commercial property we’d own together.”
