"I'll go," Lydia said. "Not as a messenger you chose. Because I should have been in this room from the start, and because she shouldn't get it from a phone if I can be in the kitchen. I'll tell her what it says. I'll tell her what we did. If she wants me to leave after that, I'll leave."
Penrose nodded. "Then I will call at six to confirm she has heard it from you, and to tell her I am available. The letter stays here tonight, copies for each of you. The original remains with the file." He looked at Mark, not unkindly. "Mr. Harlan, if you have made a representation to a third party about property that is not yours, correct it sooner rather than later. I am not your lawyer in that matter. I am telling you what your mother asked me to tell you if the subject arose. It has arisen."
Mark took his copy without looking at it. He folded it once, badly, and put it in the inner pocket of the gray jacket. "You all want me to walk in and hand Pruitt his money and my apology. Fine. Picture it. It will be a beautiful picture. I'll be the son who was outmaneuvered by a choir teacher."
"She taught for thirty years," Lydia said. "You can say her name."