“Then why did Dad let them believe it was his?”

“He never did,” she said. “Your stepmother simply preferred a different answer.”

I placed the brass key beside the broken urn.

“Tomorrow,” I said, “show me everything.”

Part 2

The key opened a bank box holding the original trust papers, certified property records, and a letter written in my grandfather’s slanted hand.

Marianne spread everything across her conference table.

“The trust held the house until your twenty-first birthday. The deed transferring it to you was recorded last year. Your father had permission to live there. Celeste acquired no ownership by marrying him.”

“Then we change the locks.”

“We recover possession properly. Their occupancy still requires a legal process.”

“How long?”

“Longer than you want. Less time than they think.”

I swallowed my frustration.

“What about the blue folder?”

Marianne looked up.

“Your father mentioned it before he died. He found documents suggesting Grant was using your property to obtain financing.”