Chapter 8 - THE CHILD WHO WITNESSED A LIE
Rebecca read the declaration twice.
"They used a document with an impossible witness," she said.
"Maybe they assume nobody checks."
"Or somebody is panicking."
The forged witness line did not automatically defeat every transfer, but it gave us a concrete contradiction the court could investigate.
Rebecca obtained certified records showing Sloane's age and asked for the original document.
Grant's attorney claimed it had been destroyed in a flood.
"Convenient flood," Nathan said.
"Convenience isn't evidence," Rebecca reminded him.
I admired her for saying that even when we all wanted to scream.
We traveled to meet Samuel Keene, the retired lawyer named on Dad's letter.
He lived in a bright room overlooking a courtyard with a fountain.
His hands trembled, but his mind was clear enough to identify my father from an old photograph.
"Daniel's girl," he whispered.
I swallowed.
"Yes."
He asked whether I had joined the Army.
"I did."
He smiled faintly.
"He said you would."
Samuel remembered preparing an independent trust instrument after Dad became concerned about manipulation of company accounts.
He said Dad had deposited a sealed duplicate with a private storage service, though he could no longer recall which branch.
Then he revealed why Grant had paid for his care.
"The accident left me without income," he explained. "Grant offered to cover the bills if I would stop making inquiries into Daniel's estate."
"Did you agree?" Rebecca asked.
Samuel's eyes filled.
"I did. And I have regretted it every day."
He admitted receiving threatening letters and said his former assistant kept a register of every sealed deposit.
"Her name was Miriam Vale," he said. "She refused to destroy anything."
Miguel found Miriam's address before evening.
But when we reached her small house, police tape crossed the porch.
A neighbor said Miriam had been transported to the hospital after smoke filled her kitchen the previous night.
She had survived.
Her filing cabinet had not.
I stood beside the blackened window, watching a firefighter carry out a ruined box.
Then the neighbor handed Miguel a folded scrap of paper.
"Miriam gave me this before the ambulance came," she said. "She said a woman named Claire would understand."
The paper held a key number and one sentence.
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THE SECOND RECORD IS NOT ON LAND.
