I froze.
A deed.
I scanned the document, my heart hammering. It was old but clear as day.
It confirmed that Page Turners had been legally transferred to George Bennett years ago.
No loopholes, no unsettled agreements.
I glanced up at Aurora. Her face was pale, eyes wide as she read over my shoulder.
“This, this proves it,” she whispered. “Hank doesn’t have a claim.”
I flipped to the next page, my stomach tightening as I took in the official stamps, the signatures. Everything was in order.
But then, another set of documents, buried beneath the deed.
These were different.
The paper looked newer, like someone had altered something more recently.
I skimmed them, my pulse pounding.
These weren’t original records. Someone had tampered with them.
Aurora’s hand shot to her mouth.
“He forged documents,” she whispered. “He had to. He made it seem like my uncle never fully owned the bookstore. And my uncle found out.”
The implications hit me hard.
Hank Lawson had built his entire case on a lie.
But that wasn’t all. Buried in the back of the folder was another document—one that made my stomach drop.
It wasn’t just about Aurora’s uncle.
There was another name tied to all of this.
And it was ours.
I met Aurora’s eyes, my grip tightening on the page.
“Whatever this is,” I said, voice low, “it doesn’t just affect you.” I turned the paper toward her. “It affects my family, too.”
Aurora reached for the document in my hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned the page.
I watched as her expression shifted. First confusion, then dawning horror.
“This,” she trailed off, flipping through the rest of the folder like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “This isn’t just about Page Turners.”
I swallowed hard, glancing at the pages now spread between us.
There were letters—old ones, yellowed at the edges—between my grandfather, Walter Grady, and George Bennett.
Financial agreements, business proposals.
And then, a letter that changed everything.