Chapter 26
Emily stared at the stack of papers Margaret Stone had spread across Winnie’s kitchen table. Grant sat next to his mother as Margaret sorted documents into neat stacks, each one tabbed and highlighted.
“I’ve always been good at research. Thirty years as a librarian teaches you to spot inconsistencies.” Margaret adjusted her reading glasses and tapped a highlighted passage.
The kitchen smelled of Winnie’s fresh coffee and something cinnamon baking in the oven. Normal, comforting scents that made the documents feel even more surreal.
“Julian Holloway claimed you manipulated his father in his final months. But look at these dates.” Margaret’s voice stayed neutral, presenting facts rather than judgment.
Emily leaned forward. The timeline Margaret had constructed showed Emily’s work schedule at the school.
“You were teaching full-time during most of the period Julian references.” Margaret pointed to another column. “These are your class schedules, faculty meeting minutes, even parking garage records. You couldn’t have been spending excessive time with Franklin when you were demonstrably elsewhere.”
Margaret had done this for her. This woman she barely knew had spent hours—maybe days—piecing together evidence.
“There’s more. Julian’s initial accusations came six months after his father’s death, right after the estate valuation showed Franklin’s final works were worth considerably more than expected.”
Grant moved closer, his hand finding Emily’s shoulder. She leaned into it as Margaret continued.
“The timing suggests financial motivation rather than genuine concern about artistic integrity. A son who rarely visited his father suddenly becoming protective of his legacy? Only after learning its monetary value?”
She remembered those awful months and the shock of Julian’s accusations. The way her colleagues had distanced themselves. Daniel’s cold announcement that he wanted a divorce and needed to protect his career.
Margaret produced a photocopy of a handwritten note. “I also found this. Franklin’s letter to the Art Institute, dated three months before his death. He specifically requested you as his collaborator and outlined exactly what he wanted you to complete.”
Emily read Franklin’s familiar scrawl twice before the words registered. My dear student Emily has the skill and sensitivity to finish what my failing body cannot. This is my wish, freely given.
“Julian would have received copies of all estate documents.” Winnie leaned over the table. “He knew about this letter.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “He knew and lied anyway. He destroyed your reputation, knowing you had done exactly what his father asked.”
Margaret gathered the papers. “I’ve made copies of everything. If Julian persists with his threats, any competent lawyer could use this to counter his claims.”
“I’m not sure why your lawyer didn’t find all this before.” Grant frowned.
“I didn’t have the funds to get a top-notch lawyer, and I’m not sure my lawyer believed in my innocence anyway.” She touched the photocopied letter. Franklin had been so careful to document everything, trying to protect her even then. He knew his son.
“Why did you do all this?” Her voice came out rough.
“Because I’ve seen enough unfair fights to know one when I see it.” Margaret paused, then smiled. “And because my son hasn’t looked at anyone the way he looks at you since—well, in a very long time.”
Heat crept up Emily’s neck. Grant squeezed her shoulder.
“So, what do you want to do with this information?” Margaret straightened the folders. “You could send copies to the Chicago papers that ran the original story. Clear your name publicly.”
Emily winced at the thought of more attention, more scrutiny, and more people picking apart her life.
“Or you could simply keep it as protection. Sometimes the best weapon is one you never have to use.” Winnie poured them all fresh coffee.
Margaret accepted the coffee with a grateful nod. “Julian’s betting you’ll do what you did before. Run.” She shrugged. “Different situation now. You’re not alone.”
She looked around the kitchen. Grant beside her. His mother, who had no reason to help her. Winnie, refilling coffee like this was any normal morning.
“I don’t want to drag you all into this mess.”
“Too late.” Grant’s thumb traced gentle circles on her shoulder. “We’re already here.”
“The festival opens tomorrow.” Winnie’s eyes held that knowing look. “And this town’s already made up its mind about you. Might as well accept it.”
Margaret stood and patted Emily’s hand. “Anyway, it’s all there if you need it.”
After she left, Emily sat staring at the folders filled with evidence of her innocence and proof that she had honored Franklin’s wishes.