“I am parked near the library,” I said as soon as I answered.

“I see your car,” Arthur replied.

“Look to your left.”

A gray sedan sat three spaces down from mine.

The driver’s side door opened, and Arthur Pendelton stepped out, holding a large black umbrella.

He wore a trench coat, his gray hair neatly combed despite the wind.

I grabbed my bag and hurried out of my car, ducking under his umbrella.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, my teeth chattering from the cold.

“Let us go inside,” Arthur said, guiding me toward the side entrance of the library.

We walked down a quiet basement corridor, past rows of dusty archives.

He led me into a small study room with a heavy oak door.

I placed the bag on the table and unzipped it.

Arthur pulled out a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket and put them on.

“These are the original financial ledgers from your father’s office,” I explained.

“And the copy of the active will they forced your grandmother to sign?” he asked.