“The theater.”
I read further.
The Meridian building was owned by Voss Holdings.
But a permanent stewardship covenant created by Eleanor had placed restrictions on how the theater could be redeveloped.
Certain decisions required approval from the Voss family representative.
And from the Callaway representative.
I read the paragraph again.
“This says my mother had authority over the building.”
“A limited kind,” Harlan said.
“And now?”
He looked directly at me.
“Now you do.”
I laughed.
Nobody else did.
I stopped.
“No.”
Harlan slid another document toward me.
“Your mother named you as successor trustee.”
“I was five.”
“Only after you turned twenty-five.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the signature.
June Callaway.
My mother’s handwriting.
Unmistakable.
A thousand memories lived in those loops and slants.
Birthday cards.
Grocery lists.
Notes in my lunchbox.
I sat down.
“What does this mean?”
“It does not mean you own half the theater,” Harlan said.
