“It was completed.”
“That’s
impossible.”
Samuel did not answer immediately.
Then he said, “Not impossible. Just difficult.”
I thought of my devices, my assistants, my travel schedule. The temporary phones. The hotel business centers. The times Michael had borrowed my tablet during visits overseas. The times my mother had asked for access to family photos or tax forms.
Trust had made every door easier to open.
Samuel turned to Emma. “You continued gathering records after that.”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know who to trust.”
“You were right to be careful,” he said.
There was something in his tone that made me look up.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
Samuel removed one final document from the folder and placed it on the table.
It was a copy of a property transfer request.
The property was not the Dallas mansion.
It was the original restaurant.
Our first one.
The narrow brick building where Emma and I
