Chapter 4 - What Elias Left Behind
The county records office smelled like dust, old paper, and burnt coffee.
June looked perfectly comfortable.
I looked like a man who had spent too much of his life paying other people to stand in lines.
By midmorning, we had the document Elias’s draft referenced.
Three years before his death, our mother had transferred the conservatory parcel to the foundation under a recorded deed restriction. The property was to remain dedicated to community horticultural programs. A change in use required a specific approval process and notice to a designated local nonprofit.
Silas’s sale proposal mentioned none of it.
“Can he sell it?” I asked.
“A sale may be possible under some circumstances,” June said. “Turning it into luxury apartments without addressing this restriction is another matter.”
“Then we stop him.”
“We inform the board, preserve the records, and seek court relief if necessary.”
She looked at me until I nodded.
Apparently, I had acquired a lawyer who treated me like a poorly trained dog.
It was an improvement over people treating me like a loaded gun.
We returned to find Mara arguing with a delivery driver.
Three pallets of supplies had arrived with instructions to charge the conservatory.
“We didn’t order these,” she said.
The driver showed her the signature on his tablet.
Mara Brooks.
It looked convincing.
June photographed the order and asked the company to preserve its records.
Mara folded her arms tightly across her chest.
“He’s building a case against me.”
“Possibly,” June said.
“He’ll say I spent the money.”
I watched her struggle to keep her voice steady.
There were things money could repair quickly. This wasn’t one of them.
“What do you need right now?” I asked.
She looked surprised.
“Someone to pick Ruby up from school. I promised I would be there.”
“Rafael can drive us.”
“No armed procession.”
“Just Rafael.”
“And you ask Ruby before hugging her or making promises or deciding you’re responsible for her.”
I blinked.
Mara held my gaze.
“Powerful men sometimes confuse helping with taking over.”
“I’m trying to learn the difference.”
“Then this is a useful place to start.”
At school, Ruby ran toward Mara, stopped when she saw me, and checked my empty hands.
“Did you bring the Chancellor?”
“Should I have?”
“He gets lonely.”
A boy near the gate laughed.
“My dad says your garden’s getting shut down.”
Ruby’s face changed.
Mara put a hand on her shoulder.
“We’re working on repairs.”
“My dad says people there steal.”
I stepped forward.
Mara’s fingers closed around my sleeve.
Not hard.
Enough.
I stopped.
The boy’s teacher came over and took him aside.
In the car, Ruby watched the city pass.
“Is Mom in trouble?”
“No,” Mara said.
“Are you?”
The question was directed at me.
I could have offered a comforting lie.
“Yes,” I answered. “Some of it is trouble I should have noticed sooner.”
Ruby considered that.
“Then you should tell the truth before it gets bigger.”
Rafael’s eyes met mine in the mirror.
Nobody said anything for the rest of the drive.
That evening, June and I met with three independent foundation directors. We showed them the deed restriction, the suspicious invoices, and the undisclosed relationship between Silas and the buyer.
Two looked alarmed.
The third, a banker named Victor Hale, kept checking his phone.
“We should avoid jumping to conclusions,” he said.
“We’re asking for an independent review,” June replied.
Victor pushed back his chair.
“Silas has kept this organization functioning while Mateo has been unavailable.”
The words landed exactly where they were intended.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“That doesn’t excuse what these records show,” I said.
“It doesn’t prove what you think it proves either.”
He left before the meeting ended.
June watched the door.
“Who appointed him?”
“Silas recommended him.”
“Of course he did.”
An hour later, Mara called.
Her voice was low and controlled.
“Someone was in our apartment.”
I was standing before she finished.
“Where’s Ruby?”
“With our neighbor. We’re safe.”
“Was anything taken?”
A pause.
“Not money.”
When I arrived, a police officer was photographing the open bedroom drawers.
Mara stood beside a small wooden dresser.
Her hands were shaking.
On top lay Ruby’s school photograph.
Someone had removed it from its frame and placed it beneath a folded note.
There were only six words.
SOME GARDENS ARE NOT WORTH SAVING.
I stared at the message.
Behind me, Mara said, “If you bring violence into my daughter’s life, you leave it.”
I turned to her.
For once, anger was the easy choice.
May you like
I chose the harder one.
“Then we do this your way.”
