“I can leave.”
I almost closed the door. Then I saw the paper folder in his hand.
“What is that?”
He looked down. “I wrote down what I remembered from Sunday. Jessica saying she used the cards. Your dad saying you were careless. Your mom saying Jessica would pay you back. The receipts.”
I stared at him.
His face flushed. “I should have said something that night. I didn’t. That was wrong. I can’t fix that, but I thought maybe this helps.”
Slowly, I unlatched the chain.
He handed me the folder.
Inside were three pages of notes, typed and signed at the bottom. Not official. Not dramatic. Just witness recollection, dated and specific.
“I don’t know if it matters,” he said.
“It matters.”
He nodded, looking relieved and ashamed at the same time. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re boring.”
That almost made me smile.
“Thank you.”
“And Jessica always scared me a little.”
“She scares herself more than anyone. She just doesn’t know it.”
Trevor looked down the hall. “My mom says everybody is mad at you.”
“Of course they are.”
“I’m not.”
That mattered more than I expected.
When he left, I scanned his statement and uploaded it to the file.
One more piece.
One more voice that did not belong to Jessica.
On Monday morning, Jessica finally stopped texting and came to my office building.
Security called from the lobby.
“There’s a Jessica Parker here asking to see you,” the receptionist said. “She says she’s your sister.”
“I don’t accept unscheduled visitors.”
There was a pause, then muffled arguing.
“She says it’s urgent.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Another pause.
“Would you like security to ask her to leave?”
“No,” I said. “Tell her she can email me.”
The receptionist sounded like she was trying not to enjoy herself. “Of course.”
Five minutes later, Jessica called.
I answered this time.
Her voice was not glossy anymore.
“Emily, this has gone too far.”
I leaned back in my chair. My office was small but orderly, with a window overlooking another government building and a sad little tree in the courtyard below. On my desk sat a printed bank request, a pen, and the new replacement cards still sealed in their envelope.
“Good morning, Jessica.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like that. Like I’m some case file.”
I looked at the folder beside me.
“You made yourself one.”
She inhaled sharply. “I was going to pay you back.”
“When?”
“When I could.”
“You never said that Sunday night.”