She had a particular way of speaking. Very level. Very controlled. Like every word had been rehearsed in front of a mirror.
I had always found it unsettling.
Now I found it something else entirely.
I stood.
“I would like you all to leave,” I said.
Mr. Ferris looked uncomfortable.
Denton looked at Suki.
Suki looked at me.
“Mom—”
“You brought a lawyer to my house,” I said. “Three days after your father died. Without calling. Without asking. You sat at his table, and you brought a man with a folio.”
I kept my voice steady.
I had learned a long time ago that the steadier your voice, the harder it lands.
“Get out of my house,” I said. “All three of you.”
They left.
I stood in the kitchen until I heard the car pull out of the driveway.
Then I went to the coat closet, reached into the back pocket of my winter coat, and took out the envelope Walter had given me.
I sat down at the dining room table and opened it.
His handwriting was neat and small, the way it had always been.
The letter explained everything.
Not just the accounts. He had already walked me through those.
It explained the rest.
The company structure, which Walter had quietly reorganized eighteen months earlier with a different attorney, one Suki had never had reason to contact. The majority ownership, which had been transferred solely into my name before his death. Fully documented. Fully legal.
The minority share, twenty percent, set aside in a trust for Denton.
Accessible when he turned fifty-five.
Non-transferable to a spouse.
Protected from divorce.