Chapter 5 - Conservatory Shadows
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall glass panes of the conservatory, casting long, geometric patterns across the flagstone floor. Palms and ferns in heavy terracotta pots crowded the corners, creating a humid, sheltered microclimate that smelled of damp earth and blooming gardenias. I sat near the center fountain, the water murmuring a steady, low background track to the quiet tension of the estate.
Elena approached soundlessly, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain teapot and two cups. She set it on the wicker table beside my wheelchair, her movements efficient and unhurried.
"The attorney left through the gate twenty minutes ago," she said quietly, pouring the tea into a delicate cup and handing it to me. "He was on his phone the entire drive down the lane. Agitated."
"Let him talk to her," I said, taking the cup. The warmth seeped through my fingers. "The foundation's legal team relies on speed and intimidation. They didn't expect anyone to look closely at the corporate charter's bylaws regarding secondary voting blocks."
Elena knelt beside the wheelchair, adjusting the dark blue knitted blanket over my knees with the same gentle care she had shown in the ballroom days ago. Her hands were steady.
"The other staff members are talking below stairs," she said, her voice barely louder than the fountain. "Mr. Vance's men have been offering bonuses for anyone willing to sign affidavits regarding your daily care—statements about your cognitive state."
I looked down at her, meeting her dark, intelligent eyes. "And what are you telling them?"
"I tell them I bring you tea and adjust your blanket," Elena replied evenly. "Nothing more. But the cook is worried about her pension, and the gardener was asked if he'd seen you wandering the grounds unassisted late at night."
I took a slow sip of the tea, letting the bitter heat settle. "They're building a narrative for the probate court. If they can prove I'm mentally incapacitated, the forged proxies become legally unassailable."
"Then we need more than the study ledgers," Elena said. "We need something outside the house that they haven't scrubbed."
"The local bank branch in town," I said. "The main operating account for the private holding company has required dual signatures since my father's time. Richard has been bypassing the teller verification by using emergency board resolutions, but those resolutions had to be filed physically with the branch manager—a man named Arthur Pendelton. Arthur knew my father for thirty years."
Elena tilted her head slightly. "Mr. Pendelton is a cautious man. But he's retiring at the end of the month. He wouldn't risk his pension on a forgery unless he was cornered."
"He didn't forge it," I said. "Richard did. Arthur just accepted what was handed to him under the seal of the foundation."
I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket and drew out a small, heavy brass key—the key to the safety deposit box at the downtown branch, separate from the estate safe. I had kept it in my possession even during the darkest weeks following the crash.
"I need to go to the bank, Elena," I said. "Not in secret. Out in the open."
Elena looked at the key in my palm, then up at my face. A faint, understanding nod crossed her features. "When?"
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"Tomorrow morning, while Mrs. Vance is at the charity committee luncheon," I said. "She likes to make public appearances on Tuesdays. It's her favorite theater."
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