“Dr. Harris.”
The lawyer continued reading.
Then he removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I need to examine these records carefully. If the payments were made using funds intended for the ranch, there may be a separate accounting issue.”
Samuel leaned forward.
“What does that mean for Thomas?”
“That depends on the evidence and whether he is willing to make a full statement.”
“He says he is.”
“Then he must do so in writing.”
Jameson began making notes.
For the first time since the truth had emerged, Samuel felt that the matter might be brought into the open without becoming a contest of accusations.
The documents were real.
The dates were clear.
The payment had been made.
The report had been altered.
Edward's plan had been written in his own hand.
And Thomas, at last, was willing to admit his part.
There would be consequences.
There would be gossip.
Some people in Alder Creek would insist that Samuel should forgive his brother because family mattered more than money. Others would argue that Thomas had betrayed him so thoroughly that forgiveness was impossible.
Samuel had not decided what he would do.
But he knew one thing.
He would not bury the truth merely to preserve the appearance of a respectable family.
He had already lost fourteen years to silence.
He would not lose another.
That evening, Anna sat beside the kitchen window with a book open on her lap.
Samuel entered carrying a small wooden box.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Something I found in the study.”
He placed it on the table and opened the lid.
Inside were several old photographs, a silver pocket watch, a faded ribbon, and a small wooden horse carved by Samuel when he was a boy.
Anna lifted the horse.
“You made this?”
“When I was twelve. Father told me I had no talent for carving.”
She smiled.
“Was he right?”
“Probably.”
He took the horse from her and turned it over in his hands.
“I made it for the child I thought I might have someday.”
Anna's expression softened.
Samuel looked at the little figure.
“I kept it for fourteen years. I told myself I was keeping it because I couldn't bear to throw it away. But I think some part of me was waiting.”
Anna reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.
“You don't have to wait anymore.”
Samuel looked at her.
For the first time, he allowed himself to imagine the child not as a possibility that might be taken away, but as a person who was already part of their lives.
He imagined a cradle beside the stove.