Chapter 9
Brielle remembered the records box because its lid had a dent shaped like a crescent moon.
Lillian used to say she earned that dent by dropping it on the floor the day her first commission came through. She kept tax returns, paid invoices, and photographs inside. Some nights she opened it to show Brielle what it took to run a real business: receipts, not wishes.
Now the box was in a Hale van, and the house felt less like a home than a place where information had been carefully removed.
Dana advised June to document the missing property but not try to retrieve it herself. She asked Celeste's attorney, once one was retained, for preservation of the box and all associated business records. She also contacted the closing attorney listed on the proposed transfer, attaching proof of June's continued trustee status.
Meanwhile, Celeste fought in a more familiar way.
She sent Marcus screenshots of comments mocking Brielle, then claimed the girl was embarrassing the family. She told relatives June was manipulating the children for access to the property. She wrote a social-media statement about the heartbreak of raising a "troubled teen" and the importance of protecting the younger child.
The cardboard model on the windowsill gradually acquired little details: a folded paper awning, a penciled sign, two windows edged in silver crayon. Naomi insisted on painting a crooked bench outside because their mother used to rest there after long days. Brielle helped glue it into place, reminding herself that preserving a place did not require preserving every painful memory associated with it. What mattered was whether the girls were permitted to decide what the place could become.
At night, Brielle remembered how Celeste had positioned herself in family photographs. She always stood with Naomi in front and Marcus close beside her. Brielle often ended up at the edge, a shoulder in the frame or a face obscured by a door. Brielle had told herself it was accidental. Now she found herself trying to identify the exact moment when each omission became deliberate. She stopped after a few pictures. No honest investigation required her to reinterpret every childhood memory as evidence.
June encouraged a routine: schoolwork at the table, a walk after dinner, updates from Dana only at agreed times unless something urgent arose. Brielle complained that she couldn't concentrate on algebra while the studio might be sold. June answered that protecting her future meant preserving it in more ways than one. Naomi built a cardboard model of the sewing studio using a cereal box. She painted the door blue and left one wall open so tiny paper people could walk in. Brielle helped cut the roof carefully, then put the scissors away. It was the first time since graduation that the sound of metal blades closing didn't make her stomach tighten. She watched Naomi set the model on the windowsill, proof that their lives could contain a building without letting a property dispute swallow every hour.
Brielle read the statement once. Then she stopped.
She wanted to post the blue-cabinet papers and expose Celeste to the same public shame. Ms. Park asked what that would do to Naomi, whose name and school already appeared in the comments.
"It might make people believe me," Brielle said.
"Some might. But you are allowed to choose a safer path than fighting strangers for a verdict."
Brielle put her phone away. She had mistaken being seen for being protected before. This time she chose documentation over a public argument.
At school, a friend named Tessa sat beside her despite the empty chairs elsewhere at the table. Tessa had been at Naomi's graduation as a volunteer usher. She remembered seeing Celeste move a small tripod into the bedroom-looking display area during preparations for the family photographs, but she had not been inside the house. Brielle did not try to turn a weak observation into a witness account. She thanked Tessa for sitting with her.
That evening, Dana received certified copies of the proposed transfer documents. One attachment was a letter supposedly written by June acknowledging that Lillian had wanted the studio sold.
June read the letter and shook her head. The words were formal, cold, unlike anything she had ever written. The signature was closer to hers than the one on the cabinet papers, but the date was a day she had been in the hospital for a knee procedure.
Dana requested records that could confirm June's whereabouts. June approved their limited use.
"Would someone really forge all this?" Naomi asked.
"We don't know who created each document yet," Dana replied. "But we know your grandmother disputes them. And we're going to make sure the dispute is heard."
May you like
Before bed, Marcus sent Brielle a text: I found an email Celeste told me to delete. You need to see it.
Brielle stared at the words. It was the first time her father had offered evidence instead of asking for an apology.
