The next morning, Abigail stood in front of an old brownstone house on the city's west end. She hadn't been here in years—not since the funeral. The man inside had once been her mother's most trusted ally.
The door opened slowly, revealing Mr. Halloran, grey-haired, sunken-eyed, with a sharp mind buried behind tired brows.
"You look just like her," he said softly.
Abigail's voice was steady. "She's the reason I'm here."
"I figured. Come in."
---
Inside, the conversation was slow, heavy, emotional.
"They've found something," Abigail said. "Or they think they have. And now they want to erase everything she did. I need to know—was there anything… anything she signed or did that could be used against her?"
Mr. Halloran closed his eyes, then nodded slowly.
"There was one document. But it was never completed. It was a merger proposal—a move your mother regretted. She buried it and told me to burn the original."
"Did you?" Abigail asked.
