Chapter 5: The Trust Was Built to Hold
Her name was Grace Adeyemi.
She had been a property solicitor for twenty-two years and she had the kind of stillness that made you feel, sitting across from her, that very little could surprise her.
I was in her office by ten o'clock that morning.
Thora was with Patricia.
I had the document Heloise had shown me on her phone — I had photographed it at six in the morning while the house was quiet — and I had the solicitor's card Patricia had handed me on the step.
Grace looked at both for a long time without speaking.
"Tell me everything," she said.
"From the beginning."
I told her.
All of it.
The eight months.
The documents I had signed without reading.
The trust.
The envelope with Miriam's handwriting.
Patricia's account of the man with the briefcase.
Thora in the uniform.
The blanket on the kitchen floor.
Grace listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she set her pen down.
"The trust document," she said.
"Do you remember signing it?"
"I don't remember it specifically.
I signed a great deal while I was traveling.
She would email things.
I was grieving.
I wasn't reading carefully."
"Did she ever explain what each document was before you signed?"
"Sometimes.
Not always."
Grace nodded slowly.
"A joint property trust of this kind requires specific execution.
Both parties must sign in the presence of an independent witness.
The witness must also sign." She tapped the photograph of the document on her desk.
"I need to see the original.
But if the witness signature is irregular — if the witness was someone connected to her, or if the witnessing didn't happen in person — the whole instrument may be invalid."
"Can you find that out?"
"I can.
It will take a few days." She looked at me steadily.
"In the meantime, I need you to understand something.
If this trust is legitimate, she does have a legal claim.
Not to ownership — but to occupancy, and potentially to a share of proceeds if the property were ever sold.
Forcing her out before we understand the document's status could complicate things."
"So she stays in my house."
"For now.
Yes."
I looked at the window.
"She told Thora she was sleeping on the floor because she was dramatic," I said.
"That's the word she used.
Dramatic."
Grace didn't answer immediately.
Then she said: "Is your daughter with someone safe right now?"
"Yes."
"Keep her there until we know more." She picked up her pen again.
"And Daniel — don't speak to Heloise about any of this.
Not a word about the solicitor, the document, or what your neighbor told you.
Let her believe you are still calculating."
I stood to leave.
"One more thing," Grace said.
"The envelope.
The one with your wife's handwriting."
"Yes."
"Don't touch it.
Don't take it.
Don't let her know you're thinking about it." She held my gaze.
"If she forged it, she'll want to use it at exactly the right moment.
Let her choose that moment.
We'll be ready."
I drove home.
Heloise was in the kitchen when I walked in.
She looked up from her coffee and smiled.
"Have a good morning?" she asked.
"Quiet," I said.
"You?"
"Very." She turned back to her cup.
"I made calls."
I set my keys on the counter.
"So did I," I said.
May you like
She didn't react.
But her hand, wrapped around the mug, went very slightly still.
