His hands were thin, spotted with age, and his fingers trembled slightly as he held a black ledger.

“You look like your mother,” he said.

“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.

He stood up slowly, using a cane to steady himself.

“Your father spent twenty years trying to erase her family from the books,” he said.

“He did not succeed,” I said.

He handed me the ledger.

The leather cover was cracked and smelled of old paper.

“This contains the original records of the maternal legacy trust,” he said.

“Does it show the diverted funds?” I asked.

“Every dollar,” he said. “Including the payments Callum made to Dr. Whitaker to falsify your pregnancy records.”

“This will end it,” I said.

“It will save the child, Avery,” he said. “That is all that matters now.”

I placed the ledger in my bag and walked back out into the rain.

The federal courthouse was crowded when I arrived an hour later.

Reporters stood on the steps under a canopy of black umbrellas.

I walked past them without looking up and entered the building through the side security entrance.