it onto the table.
“There’s your signature.”
I stared at my name beneath a paragraph assigning financial authority to Richard.
It looked almost perfect.
Mira put on her glasses.
“Do you have the original?”
“My solicitor has it.”
“Which solicitor?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It became my business when you presented a document affecting my client.”
Richard pointed at Arthur.
“Ask him why Dad sent money to Eleanor every month while his own children struggled.”
My throat closed.
“Daniel sent her money?”
“Thousands,” Richard said.
“He lied to all of us, Mom.
Arthur knows it, Mira knows it, and now they want you to reward his secret daughter.”
Mira opened her folder.
“Daniel did send Eleanor money,” she said.
“But not from the trust.”
She slid a bank statement toward me.
The payments had come from our household account—the account I had filled with my wages for twenty-seven years.
