Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 181

The next morning, Wren Whitaker returned to The Whitaker Estate.

She didn't come alone; she arrived fully prepared.

Phoebe Price drove, and a lawyer sat in the passenger seat. The lawyer, Mr. Lawson, was around forty, spoke little during the ride, and clutched a black briefcase.

By the time the car parked in front of The Whitaker Estate, the rain had just stopped.

The sweet osmanthus trees in the yard were soaked, scattering a carpet of crushed yellow blossoms. Wren stepped out, her gaze landing on the old stone steps by the door, and suddenly remembered the day she turned sixteen.

That was where Lydia Whitaker had stood all those years ago.

Holding Willow's hand.

Quentin Whitaker had stood inside the doorway, looking tired but devoid of any grief over her mother's passing. Instead, there had been a flicker of joy in his eyes. "Wren," he had said, "they'll be living here from now on."

She had been wearing a black dress then, the sleeves too long, covering half of her hands.

It hadn't even been seven days since her mother's death.

Wren pulled her gaze back, reeling in her thoughts, and pressed the doorbell.

The one who answered the door was the senior housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins.

Seeing her, Mrs. Higgins froze for a moment before letting out a pleasant gasp. "Miss Whitaker."

The moment the title was spoken, the house fell silent for half a second.

Soon after, Quentin's voice carried over from the living room.

"Let her in."

Wren walked inside.

The living room had changed drastically.

Vivian Vance had always preferred muted tones; the curtains, rugs, and vases were once simple. Now, warm colors dominated the space. Oil paintings favored by Lydia hung on the walls, and a fresh floral arrangement sat on the coffee table.

Willow Whitaker sat by the edge of the sofa.

Wearing a light-colored sweater with her hair pinned up loosely, she looked as if nothing had happened last night.

Lydia sat next to her, holding a cup of tea, her complexion looking rather poor.

Quentin stood by the window. The moment he spotted Phoebe and Mr. Lawson, his brows pulled together.

"You brought outsiders to your own home?"

Wren set her bag down. "I'm here for my mother's belongings. I brought my lawyer to avoid any misunderstandings."

Quentin scoffed. "How many years has it been since your mother died? You're just now remembering to get her things?"

"I remembered yesterday."

She stated flatly.

Quentin's expression darkened.

Phoebe nearly let out a laugh but managed to bite it back.

Lydia set her teacup down, softening her voice. "Wren, Quentin was up all night. Whatever you're looking for, we can take our time finding it. There's no need to be so hostile."

Wren looked at her. "The Cobalt Folder."

Lydia's fingers tightened. She hadn't expected Wren to be so direct.

The tea in her cup sloshed.

Willow kept her head down, picking at her nails in silence.

Quentin frowned. "What Cobalt Folder? I told you, I don't know anything about it."

Mr. Lawson opened his briefcase and pulled out a photocopy.

"Mr. Whitaker, this is a copy of a note written by Ms. Vivian Vance before her passing. She explicitly stated that The Cobalt Folder was not to be handed over to you. As Ms. Vance's sole daughter, Ms. Whitaker has the right to inspect her mother's personal belongings."

Quentin didn't even glance at it, turning his head away.

"There is no need for a lawyer to come into my house and make threats. Vivian was my wife; I have the right to handle her possessions."

Wren lifted her gaze.

"So, where did you put them?"

The question wasn't loud.

But no one in the living room answered.

Quentin picked up the cigarette pack from the table, then tossed it back down.

"The study was cleared out a long time ago. It's been too long; a lot of things are gone."

Wren stared at him. "I want to see it."

Lydia chimed in immediately. "That room isn't a study anymore."

"Open the door."

The lock clicked.

The lights flicked on.

An entire wall of glass cabinets immediately caught her eye.

Designer bags, jewelry, perfume, and evening gowns arranged by color. The carpet was a light beige, the curtains swapped for a textured fabric, and the air was thick with a cloyingly sweet fragrance.

Phoebe stood at the doorway, her expression sinking.

Wren, however, remained perfectly quiet.

She walked inside, stopping right where the desk used to be.

In its place stood a tall display cabinet packed with Willow's evening heels.

Silver, white, pearl-embellished.

Every single pair was spotless.

Willow stood outside the door, her voice faint. "Wren, Lydia remodeled this room for me later on. I didn't know you would mind."

Wren turned to look at her.

"Like you wouldn't know?"

Willow's eyelashes fluttered.

Wren didn't ask again.

There was no point.

She walked over to the wall, reaching out to trace a tiny strip of wooden molding exposed behind the cabinet. It was the footprint of the old bookshelf.

As a little girl, she used to crawl under that row of shelves looking for lost crayons.

Vivian would tell her, "Don't crawl in there, it's too dusty."

The voice seemed to linger.

But the room was completely unrecognizable.

Mr. Lawson snapped a few photos, documenting the room's current state.

Phoebe asked, "Are there any old boxes or cabinets?"