Chapter 3 - THE BLUE FOLDER
I zoomed in.
The folder sat underneath the overturned cake board.
Only one line was readable.
MINOR BENEFICIARY CONSENT.
I showed Maya.
She asked:
“Did you put any legal documents near the cake?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Could the folder belong to Drew?”
“Probably.”
“Could it be unrelated?”
“Yes.”
Good.
No conclusions from frosting.
At the Howerin offices the next morning, Drew wore a cream suit.
Cody stayed home.
Her husband, Silas Howerin, sat beside her.
Their mother, Margaret Howerin, occupied the head of the conference table.
I had not seen Margaret since Andrew’s funeral.
She kissed my cheek.
As if yesterday had not happened.
“Maggie, such a shame about the birthday.”
I stared at her.
“Is it?”
She ignored that.
An attorney pushed papers toward me.
“Routine estate cleanup.”
Maya took them first.
Within thirty seconds, she closed the folder.
“We’ll need the complete supporting agreements.”
Drew smiled.
“There aren’t any.”
“There are references to exhibits.”
“Old exhibits.”
“Then produce them.”
Silas sighed.
“This is why Andrew hated lawyers.”
“No,” I said. “Andrew hated people explaining documents after he signed.”
Silence.
That memory had come from nowhere.
Andrew had said it once at our kitchen table.
I had forgotten.
Maya tapped the first page.
The document asked me, as William’s surviving parent, to acknowledge that:
Andrew’s equity had been lawfully repurchased.
No continuing beneficial interest existed.
No trust or voting claim survived for William.
Any future claims were waived.
And yesterday’s “family incident” would not be used to interfere with corporate affairs.
I looked at Drew.
“You drafted a waiver mentioning an incident that happened yesterday?”
Her face did not change.
“The language was added this morning.”
“Who added it?”
“Our counsel.”
Maya asked:
“Before or after police requested the full phone video?”
Drew’s jaw tightened.
Margaret intervened.
“Enough games.”
Then she looked at me.
“Sign, and we can all move past this.”
“What exactly am I moving past?”
“Andrew is dead. You are not a Howerin.”
William’s face entered my mind.
His birthday.
Cody’s shoes grinding frosting.
Your wish has been trampled by me.
I slid the papers back.
“No.”
Silas stood.
“Then you’re putting seventy employees at risk.”
“How?”
The room changed.
Too much had been said.
Maya caught it too.
“What does William’s waiver have to do with seventy employees?”
Silas looked toward Drew.
Drew answered:
“Nothing directly.”
“Then why mention them?”
No answer.
Maya requested adjournment.
Margaret refused.
Maya said:
“You can hold whatever meeting you want. Maggie is leaving.”
We stood.
At the door, Drew said:
“You should ask what Andrew did three weeks before he died.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He changed something.”
“What?”
Drew smiled.
“That’s what happens when you marry a man who never trusted you with business.”
The insult worked.
Not because I believed her.
Because Andrew really had hidden things.
That evening, I opened the locked file cabinet in our home office.
Andrew’s old folders were still there.
Taxes.
Insurance.
Hospital records.
At the back sat one envelope I had never noticed.
May you like
FOR MAGGIE — ONLY IF HOWERIN ASKS HER TO SIGN.
My hands began to shake.
