I shut the door and slid the brass chain into its track.

I walked to my kitchen counter and turned on the harsh yellow light of my cheap desk lamp.

I picked up the stack of papers Arthur had given me to take home the day before.

They were copies of the documents my grandmother had hidden in that rusted butter cookie tin.

I sat on my wooden stool and read through Beatrice’s meticulous legal notes and her decades of letters with Arthur.

She had tracked every single legal filing Gregory had ever made against her.