Chapter 7: What Renata Knew
Grace's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, small and precise — two chairs across from her desk, a window that looked out onto a parking structure, a single framed print of a lighthouse on the wall.
Nothing decorative.
Everything functional.
She read Mike's letter carefully, twice, without speaking.
Then she set it down and looked at me.
"This is good," she said.
"It's not a formal affidavit, but a handwritten letter composed in anticipation of d*ath, witnessed by a third party — Harold — carries real weight.
We'll argue it as a dying declaration."
"Will the court accept that?"
"The judge will hear the argument.
I've seen it succeed in similar cases." She slid the letter back across the desk.
"Tell me about Renata Voss."
I told her what I knew.
The partnership, the dissolution, the out-of-court settlement.
Mike had described it once as a difficult ending to something that had started well.
He hadn't been angry about it — more tired.
"Did he ever say what specifically went wrong between them?"
"He said she changed the terms after they'd already agreed.
Moved money around in ways he hadn't authorized.
He said when he confronted her, she told him he was misremembering." I paused.
"He said that was the moment he knew he had to end it."
Grace wrote something.
"Gaslighting in a business context.
That tracks with her pattern." She looked up.
"Renata Voss has been involved in two other probate disputes in the last eight years.
Neither involved her directly as a claimant — she appeared as a supporting witness in both.
In one case, the challenge was dropped.
In the other, it succeeded, and a significant estate was redirected."
"She does this."
"She inserts herself into vulnerable moments, yes." Grace's voice was even.
"Her statement claims Mike confided in her about his fertility concerns.
I want to challenge that statement directly.
To do that, I need to depose her — put her under oath and ask her to describe exactly when, where, and how this conversation happened."
"Can you do that before the hearing?"
"I've already filed the request.
She has seven days to respond." Grace folded her hands.
"Here's what I want you to understand.
Daniel may be the name on the filing, but Renata is the architecture.
She found him, or he found her, and she built the argument.
Daniel is grieving and angry and probably feels entitled to something he can't name.
Renata knows exactly what she's doing."
"Why would she come back now?
The settlement was years ago."
"The settlement covered her claim against the original business.
It said nothing about the company Harold and Mike built afterward.
That company is worth considerably more." Grace looked at me steadily.
"If Mia's paternity is successfully challenged, her inheritance stake is eliminated.
The estate distributes differently.
Daniel inherits more.
And Renata — I suspect — has a private arrangement with Daniel that we haven't found yet."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"So this was never really about Mia," I said.
"It was never about Mia."
I looked at the lighthouse on the wall.
"What do I do?"
"You let me work," Grace said.
"You gather every document, every photograph, every piece of evidence that places Mike as Mia's father — hospital records from her birth, his name on the birth certificate, any written record of him referring to her as his daughter.
You get me Dr.
Okafor's testimony as soon as possible.
And you do not contact Daniel again without telling me first."
"He texted me.
Said he wants to resolve it without the hearing."
Grace's expression didn't change, but something behind it sharpened.
"Forward me that text.
Do not respond to it." She paused.
"If he's reaching out privately, it means something in their case is weaker than they want you to think."
I left her office and stood in the elevator going down.
Renata Voss.
A woman I had met twice, briefly, at events where Mike had steered me gently away from her with a hand at the small of my back.
I had thought it was awkwardness between old colleagues.
He had been protecting me from something he hoped would never matter.
My phone rang as I stepped into the parking structure.
Harold.
"Grace called me," he said.
"She told me about Renata."
"Did you know she was involved?"
A pause.
"I suspected.
I didn't have proof."
"Harold."
"I know.
I should have told you sooner." His voice was tight.
"Sarah, I need to tell you something else.
Something I found this morning." He stopped.
"Renata has been in contact with someone at the company.
Someone on the inside.
I found an email chain I was never meant to see."
"Who?"
He said a name.
May you like
I stopped walking.
It was someone I saw every day.
