Beneath it was language about incapacity, emergency authority, transfer of voting rights, and the sale of company assets. Her signature appeared at the bottom in a looping imitation that looked close enough to deceive a stranger and wrong enough to insult her.
Michael leaned over her shoulder. The color left his face.
“That isn’t your signature,” he said.
“No.”
“But I watched you sign.”
Sarah turned her head slowly. “You watched me sign what?”
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Jessica began to cry.
The sound irritated Sarah more than it moved her. Tears had become Jessica’s quickest way through a locked door. She had cried at funerals, in the hospital, during arguments, and once in Sarah’s kitchen while asking to borrow money for a business that never existed. Each time, someone else had ended up apologizing to her.
“Stop,” Sarah said.
Jessica’s breath caught.
“I’m not asking you to perform grief for me. Tell the truth.”
“I didn’t know it would go this far.”
Michael looked at her. “What does that mean?”
Jessica pressed both hands over her mouth. Her eyes darted toward the bedroom window, toward the hallway, toward the staircase, searching for an exit that would not require passing them.
Sarah turned another page. There was a purchase agreement for the house. The buyer was listed as a development company Sarah did not recognize. The price was less than half the property’s market value.
A second document transferred shares in Bellweather Textiles to a holding company registered three months earlier.
The holding company’s listed manager was Jessica.
Michael made a sound that was almost a laugh, except there was no humor in it. “You told me I was taking control.”
“I thought I was helping you.”
“You told me my mother was losing her mind.”
“I said she was under pressure.”
“You said she forgot the meeting with the bank.”
“She did forget.”
Sarah looked up. “I canceled that meeting because the bank manager was your friend’s brother and had already been asking questions about our payroll.”
Michael’s face tightened. “You never told me that.”
“I told you not to bring strangers into the company.”
“You told me not to bring anyone.”
“I told you to learn the business before you claimed it.”
Jessica’s tears continued silently now. A tear reached the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, leaving a dark streak beneath her eye.
Sarah set the papers down.
“Who prepared these?”
Neither of them answered.
The old house had begun to make its familiar sounds around them: a pipe knocking behind the wall, floorboards shifting beneath the weight of someone moving downstairs, the low hum of the refrigerator carried upward through the vents. For most of Sarah’s life, those sounds had meant shelter. Now they seemed to be listening.
Michael picked up the key.
“Why would you keep the factory key in my room?”
“I didn’t.”
His head lifted.
“I kept it in the wall safe behind your closet.”
He stared at her.
