“I made mistakes fifteen years ago, after the market crashed,” Warren said, his chest heaving.

“What mistakes, Warren?” Aunt Caroline asked, her voice trembling.

“The Mercer trust,” Warren said, looking down at his hands.

“I moved funds to cover my own firm’s losses.”

“You embezzled from us?” Aunt Caroline gasped.

“I replaced every dollar within six months,” Warren said quickly.

“But the records remained.”

He pointed a shaking finger at Marcus.

“He found the ledger in the vault when his father died.”

“Marcus threatened to take those documents to the bar association if I didn’t help him.”

The grandfather clock chimed once for the half-hour.

“He wanted the north ridge cleared for development,” Warren said.

“But the 1892 deed explicitly forbade any commercial activity on the burial grounds.”

“So you forged the title clearance,” I said.

Warren sank back into his chair, looking suddenly very old.

“I drafted a certificate of cleared title, omitting the restrictive covenant,” Warren whispered.

“I filed it under the pretext of a clerical correction.”

“And the original deed?” I asked.

“It’s in the folder Marcus took from the archives,” Warren said.