He swallowed hard. Then he looked up at Mr. Grant.
“You have no authority to do this.”
Mr. Grant didn’t blink. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
My father’s expression hardened. “Then close that folder.”
“No.”
The single word seemed to hit harder than shouting would have.
My mother stepped forward, finally finding her voice. “Mr. Grant, this is unnecessary. Hazel is emotional right now. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing.”
I almost laughed out loud. Grandma wasn’t even there. She had stayed home, told me plainly, days earlier, that she didn’t want to see any of them until she understood exactly what they had done, all of it, laid out completely rather than dribbled back to her in careful, defensive fragments.
Mr. Grant looked at my mother evenly. “Hazel signed nothing.”
My mother frowned, genuinely confused. “Then why are you here?”
“Because she asked me to protect her.”
