When the call ended, Mason remained near the laptop.
“She looked tired,” he said.
“She did,” Henry replied.
“I should go home now.”
“You can.”
Mason looked toward the wooden box and the letters.
“But if I leave, I may never understand what Claire wanted me to find.”
“You can finish this and still go home.”
“What about the guardianship?”
“We won’t discuss it again today.”
Mason turned. “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t have your lawyer file something while I’m not looking?”
“No.”
“How do I know?”
Henry took the draft petition from Anna’s stack.
For a second, Mason’s body tensed.
Henry tore the signature page neatly in half.
Anna inhaled. “Mr. Whitman, that was an official draft.”
“Then you have another copy.”
“I do.”
Henry placed the torn page on the table.
“Mason’s answer is not a formality,” he said. “Until he gives one freely, my name does not belong there.”
Mason stared at the two halves.
Something in his expression softened—not into trust, but into the beginning of it.
Anna closed the folder.
“There is one additional envelope in my father’s archive,” she said. “It was deposited by Rachel Brooks shortly before her death. Claire requested access, but the identification process was not completed before Nora was born.”
“What’s in it?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. The archive office is verifying the release now.”
“How long will that take?”
“We should hear from them this afternoon.”
Henry’s phone vibrated.
The screen displayed Mara Levin’s name.
When he answered, the attorney spoke before he could greet her.
“Henry, I found something on Claire’s private drive.”
“What?”
“A recording. It was scheduled to be sent to you yesterday, but the delivery failed because her personal account was closed.”
Henry looked at Mason.
“Can you send it now?”
“I already have.”
The audio file appeared in his messages.
Mason took a slow breath.
“Play it.”
Henry set the phone on the table and pressed the screen.
For a few seconds, there was only soft background noise.
Then Claire’s voice filled the room.
