“If you stopped working, we would.”
So I left.
At first I told myself it was temporary.
Then temporary became eight years.
I managed Nolan’s household.
Calendar.
Family obligations.
Events.
Travel.
Everything invisible.
Which was why Vivian assumed I had endless time to clean Edwin’s study.
I spent two days sorting documents.
Old insurance policies.
Tax records.
Deeds from decades ago.
Correspondence.
Then I opened a legal-sized envelope marked:
Hartwell Residential Trust — Restatement
I almost set it aside.
Then I saw Edwin’s signature.
Paralegal habits die slowly.
I read.
Once.
Then again.
The Wrenwood Avenue house had been transferred into a private trust several years before Edwin died.
Vivian did not own it.
