CHAPTER 23 #3
Then block lettering.
Anika stopped.
Photograph.
Document.
Continue.
No shortcuts.
The final section came free.
The older cream sheet remained attached to the panel support.
Ink had faded to brown-grey.
Enough survived.
Iqra read silently first.
Then aloud.
“Merewick Renewal Committee.”
Romy froze.
The room changed because the phrase belonged somewhere else in her life.
A different file.
A different accusation.
A different part of Merewick’s history Romy had spent years trying not to let define every object she saw.
Iqra continued.
“Transfer.”
Below it, a date field.
4/98.
April 1998.
Romy stepped closer before stopping herself at the evidence line.
“Read it again.”
Iqra did.
“MEREWICK RENEWAL COMMITTEE, TRANSFER 4/98.”
Anika looked at Romy.
“You know that name.”
“Yes.”
Iqra did too.
Her expression had changed.
Not excitement.
Recognition.
This was not part of Sebastian’s murder.
Marcus had not created the stamp.
He had hidden it.
Whatever the Renewal Committee had done with the panel happened decades before Sebastian died.
Before Fenn Found.
Before Asterleigh Show House.
Before Marcus’s false sales story.
The murder was solved.
This was older.
Independent.
Romy looked at Anika.
“Can the stamp be dated?”
“Broadly through ink and paper analysis, potentially. Not to a precise month from material alone.”
Iqra said, “But the transfer date is printed on it.”
“If authentic.”
Romy heard Anika’s caution.
Necessary.
Annoying.
Comforting now.
“Can Marcus have fabricated this?”
“Possible in the abstract. Nothing currently suggests modern fabrication. The paper aging, adhesive history, wear pattern, and placement under later layers are consistent with an older document.”
“Older meaning?”
“Consistent with late twentieth century. Full testing will narrow material characteristics.”
Iqra said, “The committee existed in 1998.”
“I know,” Romy said too quickly.
Elin.
Her mother’s case.
The old Renewal Committee.
The accusation that had bent the Vane name long before Romy understood professional reputation.
For years, Romy had thought of that history as a problem to clear.
A stain attached to family.
A story that needed correction.
Now an unrelated decorative panel carried a committee transfer stamp from the same period.
An object Marcus had hidden under false provenance.
An object Sebastian had recognized as dangerous.
Romy forced herself not to leap.
“What does transfer mean?”
“We need the register,” Iqra said.
“Surviving?”
“Yes.”
“Complete?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
“Enough to check April.”
Anika said, “And until you check it, this stamp proves only what the stamp says.”
Romy looked at her.
“Do you practice being difficult?”
“I practice not turning one faded stamp into a theory about your entire family.”
The words steadied Romy.
“Good.”
Anika nodded.
“Good.”
There it was.
Why Anika would remain useful.
Not because she agreed.
Because she stopped agreement becoming fantasy.
Iqra opened her tablet.
“The surviving Renewal Committee register was digitized as part of the local-record rescue project.”
“Can you access it here?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers moved.
Romy waited.
She thought about Pattern House.
Full coverage restored.
Invoice released.
Leo with his own key.
Clients returning.
Ellis at the worktable the previous afternoon.
Nina feeding everyone whether invited or not.
Anika arguing from the other side of the evidence line.
For the first time, the old family mystery did not feel like the thing holding Romy’s future hostage.
Pattern House existed regardless of whether Elin was cleared tomorrow, next year, or ever.
Romy still wanted the truth.
Desperately.
But wanting it was different from needing it to justify everything else.
That changed the weight of the next few seconds.
Iqra found the register.
“April 1998.”
Romy stepped nearer.
“Transfer entries are numbered.”
“Does the panel have a number?”
“Not visible on the exposed part.”
“Any textile description?”
“Give me a second.”
Anika said, “Do not rush her.”
“I’m standing.”
“You’re radiating.”
“That is not measurable.”
“Unfortunately.”
Iqra stopped scrolling.
Her face changed.
Romy saw it.
“What?”
Iqra read.
Then looked at the stamp again.
Then back at the screen.
“Romy.”
“What?”
“This is strange.”
“How?”
Iqra turned the tablet slightly.
A Renewal Committee entry.
April 1998.
Transfer authorization.
Decorative furnishing.
Private holding route.
The wording was incomplete because part of the surviving scan had been damaged.
But the date remained clear.
Romy looked at Iqra.
“Why does it matter?”
Iqra did not answer immediately.
Instead she opened another register index.
Cross-referenced a date.
Then a later committee entry.
Romy knew what she was doing.
Comparing timelines.
The same thing Romy had done with the Blue Study.
One fixed date against another.
Object first.
Record second.
See where they disagree.
Iqra’s mouth tightened.
She looked at Romy.
The room became completely still.
Then Iqra said, “This panel was processed three months before they accused your mother of stealing anything.”