She kept smiling.
It was a particular kind of smile, polished and patient, the kind that doesn’t change when it meets resistance but simply waits for the resistance to tire. I had seen versions of it before. Harold used to call it the patient certainty of people who have never been told no by anyone who mattered.
“That’s fine,” she said easily. “This is really just about planning ahead. Making things simpler for everyone.”
“Everyone,” I said.
Paul set his cup down quietly. “These documents,” Brooke continued, tapping the stack, “would let Matthew help manage the house. Power of attorney, transfer of title.
Nothing extreme. Just a safety net.”
I looked at the top page. The language was clear and clean.
The word irrevocable appeared in the third paragraph. I let the silence stretch long enough to change the quality of the room. Then I folded my hands in my lap.
“And Matthew knows you’re here?” I asked. Something moved across her face. Small and quick, like a shadow when a cloud passes.
