Chapter 7: What Stuart Renner Knew
He called again the next morning.
I let it ring.
He called Alan's number that afternoon.
Alan answered, listened for thirty seconds, and said, "Contact our solicitor," and hung up.
That evening, a letter arrived by courier.
No return address on the envelope, but the letter inside was printed on headed paper from a firm I didn't recognise — Renner & Associates, a name that told me Stuart had set up his own vehicle for this.
Alan read it first.
Then he handed it to me without a word.
The letter claimed that at the time of Iris's adoption, there had been an irregularity in the consent process.
It alleged that Carol Deane — as the closest surviving adult relative — had not been properly notified of the adoption proceedings and had not formally waived her right to be considered as a guardian.
If true, the letter argued, the adoption could be subject to a legal review.
And if the adoption were reviewed, Iris's status as a confirmed beneficiary under the trust terms could be delayed indefinitely.
I read it twice.
My hands were steady.
I was surprised by that.
"It's a pressure tactic," Alan said.
"I know."
"He's trying to scare us into settling."
"I know that too."
I called Carol that night.
She picked up on the second ring.
"I've been expecting this," she said, before I'd finished explaining.
"You knew he'd go after the adoption?"
"I knew he'd go after whatever he could find.
The adoption was the most obvious target." Her voice was calm — the calm of someone who had already thought this through.
"I was notified.
I have the paperwork.
I was contacted by the adoption agency, I signed a form confirming I was not in a position to take Iris, and I was given the opportunity to request contact arrangements.
I declined at the time because I was — " She stopped.
"I was in a bad place after Daniel d*ed.
I wasn't capable of being what she needed.
But I was notified.
Stuart knows that.
He's hoping you don't."
"Can you send me the paperwork?"
"I'll scan it tonight."
It arrived in my inbox before midnight.
I forwarded it to Gerald Marsh with a single line: *Stuart Renner's letter — please see attached documentation from Carol Deane.*
Gerald replied within the hour.
*This resolves his primary argument.
I'll respond to his solicitor in the morning.
Well done.*
I set my phone down on the kitchen table and sat in the quiet for a moment.
Alan appeared in the doorway.
"Done?"
"For tonight."
He came and sat across from me.
"We should tell Iris."
"In the morning.
She's asleep."
"She'd want to know."
"She'd want to know in the morning," I said.
"With coffee.
Not at midnight."
He almost smiled.
"Fair enough."
We sat there for a while.
The house was quiet around us.
"He's not going to stop," I said.
"No."
"Even with Carol's paperwork, he'll find something else."
"Probably." Alan looked at me.
"But he's running out of things to find.
And we're not running out of reasons to keep going."
In the morning, I told Iris over breakfast.
I showed her Carol's paperwork and Gerald's reply.
She read everything carefully, the way she always read things — slowly, going back over sentences, making sure she'd understood.
Then she set the papers down and picked up her coffee.
"He called you to scare you," she said.
"Yes."
"Did it work?"
"For about ten minutes."
She looked at me steadily.
"What do we do now?"
"We wait for Gerald to shut down this argument.
Then we see what Renner tries next."
She nodded slowly.
Then: "I want to talk to Carol again.
Just the two of us, if that's okay."
"Of course it is."
"There are things I want to ask her.
About my parents.
About what they were like." She paused.
"I've been waiting my whole life to ask someone those questions.
I don't want Stuart Renner to be the reason I keep waiting."
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers.
"Then don't let him be," I said.
She turned her hand over and held mine.
Outside, a car passed slowly on the road.
We both looked up.
May you like
It didn't stop.
But we both noticed it.
