Clara clutched Marcus’s internal ledgers, the damning evidence of Julian’s impending financial ruin. She walked straight to Attorney Ellison’s office, the papers feeling heavy and significant in her hands.
Ellison’s eyes widened as he reviewed the documents. His usual flustered demeanor solidified into professional resolve.
“This is extraordinary, Clara,” he murmured, tapping the ledgers. “This changes everything.”
He wasted no time. Using the incontrovertible evidence of Julian’s firm’s sixty-day insolvency, Ellison moved swiftly to block the county tax audit. The judge, presented with the unassailable proof, sided with the estate.
Julian’s leverage, his aggressive tactics, vanished overnight. His desperate gamble had failed.
He retreated.
Clara found a short, handwritten note slipped under the guest cottage door. Julian’s usually bold script was hesitant, almost fragile.
“Clara, I need to talk. No lawyers. Just us. At the cabin tonight.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs. She went to the main manor, to Eleanor’s study.
On Eleanor’s desk, tucked behind a stack of old books, was a small, locked metal keepsake box. Clara remembered Eleanor always kept it near.
She found a tiny silver key, hidden beneath a loose floorboard near the fireplace, just as Eleanor had once shown her.
The key felt cool in her palm. Clara took the box and walked back out into the cool evening air, toward the cabin, and toward whatever truth Eleanor had left for them both.
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