Richard appeared at the attorney’s office carrying three banker’s boxes. Inside were memos, grant statements, correspondence, and the original inquiry draft. He acknowledged authorizing payments to settle patient claims quietly. He insisted he had not known the reports were fraudulent when the money was sent. The lawyer, Celia Grant, told him that explanations belonged in sworn testimony, not private negotiations. Isaiah watched Richard sign the preservation agreement and realized that the old businessman had finally run out of places to hide. Richard asked to speak with Walter privately. Walter refused. Whatever had happened between them would be addressed before the same investigators reviewing everyone else.
Celia had begun her career representing tenants whose complaints were dismissed because they lacked polished language and connections. She knew a courtroom was not a place where righteous anger automatically became proof. As Isaiah reviewed the files beside her, she showed him how to mark dates, preserve source documents, and avoid filling gaps with assumptions. The care felt slow, but it also felt fair. Evelyn's memories and Walter's injuries mattered deeply; neither should be distorted to create a cleaner narrative. Richard seemed surprised by her insistence that his admissions receive the same scrutiny as everyone else's claims. Isaiah was glad. Equal rules were the first sign this investigation might be different.
Celia organized the evidence into separate folders: documents she could verify, testimony requiring corroboration, and allegations that could not yet be stated as fact. Her caution initially frustrated Isaiah. Then she explained that a compelling story could collapse in court if its weakest claim was presented as certainty. Naomi had understood this. Her meticulous notes, written at the edge of exhaustion, distinguished what she witnessed from what others told her. Isaiah felt a fierce, unexpected pride in the care she had taken. His mother had left more than an accusation. She had left a method for making the truth survive.
The lawyer gave Isaiah a blank notebook and suggested recording every conversation immediately afterward, including doubts and disagreements. Isaiah had grown accustomed to treating uncertainty as weakness. Celia showed him that acknowledging it could prevent accidental harm. He wrote the date on the first page and felt, unexpectedly, that he was learning a skill his mother had already practiced. What mattered now was not looking heroic but showing up when his family needed him. There was a difference between a story that sounded satisfying and an answer that could be proved. He remembered the warmth of that first offered meal and refused to let fear erase it. He waited.
Celia turned to the final folder. It contained records showing that Martin Creed had been using a new identity to purchase property near Orchard Street.