Sign the papers, Eleanor, or watch your little bakery burn to the ground by

I clicked the pen twice. Trevor smirked at Paige. ‘See? I told you she’d be reasonable.’ I looked up and finally smiled — the first real smile since the funeral. ‘Before I sign, Trevor, you should know something. David didn’t trust you. Not after the Newport thing in 2019.’ His smile twitched. Paige lowered the phone. ‘What Newport thing?’ I asked sweetly. ‘The forty-two thousand dollars you took from his business account to cover your sports debts? The one he covered for you because your mother begged him?’ The knitting needles stopped. Trevor stood up fast. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about—’ ‘I have the wire transfers. The texts. The signed IOU David made you write at the kitchen sink while you cried.’ I slid my own folder across the table. ‘I also have the forensic accountant’s report on the three shell LLCs you opened using David’s name last spring — while he was in chemo.’ Paige slowly turned her camera toward Trevor. His mother set down the knitting. ‘Trevor. What is she saying.’ I kept going. ‘The bakery isn’t in my name, by the way. David put it in an irrevocable trust six weeks before he passed. I’m just the trustee. You can’t touch it. You never could.’ Then I stood up, walked to the front door, and opened it. Two officers were already on the porch — I’d called them an hour before everyone arrived. ‘The transfer documents you brought tonight? That’s attempted fraud against an estate. That’s a felony in Connecticut.’ Trevor’s face went gray. His mother didn’t even look at him as they walked him out. Paige tried to delete the footage. I told her not to bother — the cloud already had it. I closed the door, poured David’s bourbon down the sink, and finally let myself cry. Not from grief this time. From the strange, quiet sound of a man keeping his promise from the other side.