“I wasn't going to.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He smiled sheepishly.
“I considered it.”
Evelyn laughed.
Then asked the clerk whether the attorney would be willing to meet her in a suitable ground-floor room.
The clerk hesitated.
Then explained the request.
Ten minutes later, Amos Whitcomb came downstairs carrying his papers.
He was sixty-seven, with thinning white hair and round spectacles.
When he saw Evelyn, his face changed.
“Miss Hart.”
Her eyes filled.
“Mr. Whitcomb.”
He approached slowly.
For a moment, he seemed overcome.
Then he took her hand.
“Your father spoke of you constantly.”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“I know.”
The old attorney looked toward Caleb.
“Mercer.”
Caleb nodded.
“Sir.”
Whitcomb's expression tightened.
“You're still working for Harrow?”
“For the moment.”
The attorney studied him.
Then looked toward Evelyn.
“What brings you here?”
She placed the leather-bound book on the table.
For several seconds, Whitcomb stared.
His face slowly lost its color.
Then he whispered, “Henry's private ledger.”
Evelyn nodded.
“We found it in the barn.”
Whitcomb lowered himself into a chair.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he looked toward the ceiling.
“Thank God.”
Evelyn's heart began pounding.
“You know about it?”
The attorney nodded.
“Your father told me he'd kept copies.”
She leaned forward.
“Then why didn't anyone tell me?”
Whitcomb's face filled with regret.
He removed his spectacles.
For several seconds, he stared toward the table.
Then answered.
“Because I made a terrible mistake.”
The room became silent.
He continued.
“After your father's death, I received a letter claiming he had instructed that all financial correspondence be delivered to Harrow Land and Cattle.”
Evelyn frowned.
“My father would never—”
“I know that now.”
Whitcomb swallowed.
“At the time, the letter appeared genuine. It carried his signature, and the messenger claimed it had been written shortly before his final illness.”
He looked toward the book.
“I should have verified it independently.”
Caleb's jaw tightened.
Evelyn took a slow breath.
“What happened next?”
Whitcomb looked toward her.
“I received no further instructions. Later, when the foreclosure proceedings began, Victor's representatives told me another attorney had been retained.”
Evelyn stared.
“I never retained anyone.”
The older man closed his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed deeply ashamed.
Then whispered, “I believe you.”