The rain still poured outside, a relentless drumming against the roof and windows. Inside the Oakhaven Estate foyer, the flashlights cast long, dancing shadows, turning the familiar space into something stark and theatrical.
Sheriff Hollister took a deep breath. His gaze, steady and unyielding, moved from Finch to Croft, who now stood speechless, eyes wide with a mixture of rage and dawning fear.
“Mr. Croft,” the Sheriff stated, his voice low. “Your appraiser has just admitted to notarizing fraudulent documents in exchange for seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Croft found his voice, a strangled, desperate sound. “He’s lying! He’s trying to save his own skin! Arthur is still a burglar, Sheriff! He broke into my building!”
Sheriff Hollister ignored Croft’s outburst. He turned to me. “Arthur, that document in your hand. What is it?”
I held out the yellowed parchment, unfolded to show its age and authenticity. “It’s the original 1982 Oakhaven Covenant, Sheriff. It was hidden in the hearth wall until the lightning strike exposed it.”
Croft lunged forward, his hand outstretched. “Private papers have no legal standing without digital verification, Sheriff! It’s probably a fake! Don’t let him touch it!”
Deputy Higgins, quick as a cat, stepped in front of Croft, blocking him. “Stay back, Mr. Croft.”
Sheriff Hollister gently took the ancient document from my hands. His fingers brushed against the thick paper, a respectful touch. He ignored Croft’s furious shouts, his eyes fixed on the text.
He walked over to the central table in the foyer, a heavy oak piece that had been in the family for generations. With deliberate care, he unfolded the heavy parchment, smoothing it out under the beam of his flashlight.
The air crackled with tension. Finch trembled. Croft fumed. Dr. Marsh watched with a quiet intensity. And I, Arthur Pendelton, waited, a profound sense of peace settling over me despite the storm raging inside and out.
The Sheriff, the stoic upholder of the law, was about to read the truth aloud.
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