Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 410

Phoebe's breathing hitched over the phone line when she heard that.

Wren, however, remained entirely composed.

The closer she got to the truth, the more she needed to keep her composure.

"Where is that photocopy?"

Eleanor's gaze drifted down to the black suitcase.

"I'm still looking for it."

Wren followed her line of sight.

Inside the suitcase sat a stack of envelopes, the top one bearing the name "Vivian." The handwriting didn't belong to Vivian; it looked much closer to Silas's script.

Eleanor instinctively reached out, pressing her hand over the letter.

Wren saw it.

She didn't immediately try to snatch it, nor did she demand an explanation.

Mr. Lawson spoke up instead. "If the documents inside the suitcase pertain to Ms. Vivian Vance or Project Morning Star Phase II, they must be registered alongside the log."

Eleanor's fingers went rigid.

She looked up at Wren, her eyes flashing with something that looked perilously close to humiliation.

"Some of these are personal letters."

"Do they concern my mother?"

Eleanor's lips parted, but she couldn't deny it.

Wren held her gaze.

"Ms. Langford, I'm not here today to dig through the painful secrets of your marriage. But if those letters have anything to do with my mother's objection, the Langford project, or the data outsourcing, I will be reading them."

Eleanor's eyes watered.

*Ms. Langford.*

Wren no longer called her 'Mother,' and she no longer called her 'Mrs. Langford.'

The title felt like it had ripped her out of the protective shell of the Langford family, leaving behind nothing but a woman who had been trapped by her own marriage.

She lowered her head, taking a long time before murmuring, "Give me some time."

Wren didn't soften, nor did she push the older woman to the brink of a breakdown.

"We will only copy the authorization log and related entries today. For the remaining documents, Mr. Lawson will issue an evidence preservation notice."

Eleanor nodded.

Just then, the sound of a car pulling up echoed from outside.

The butler hurried into the room, keeping his voice low. "Madam, Mr. Langford is back."

The living room plunged into absolute silence.

Lawrence's gaze drifted down to the black-bound ledger.

A few seconds later, he walked over and flipped to the marked page.

*Approved.*

The word burned into his vision like a nail driven into rotted wood.

Lawrence's expression remained strictly neutral, but Wren noticed his fingers tighten on the edge of the page.

"Warren Stafford," he murmured, reading the name aloud.

"Your father's secretary from back in the day," Eleanor said.

"I know."

Of course he knew.

When he was a boy, Warren Stafford was a constant fixture around the estate. The man was quiet, meticulous, forever clutching a black briefcase, and always standing half a step behind Silas. Lawrence had disliked him as a teenager, thinking the man resembled an emotionless door.

After Silas died, Warren had quickly departed from Langford Medical.

Once Lawrence took the helm of the corporation, nobody had ever mentioned the man's name again.

And now, that very name had resurfaced from an old authorization log, irrevocably chained to Vivian Vance's objection letter.