I firmly declined to surrender the box or flash drive. Ms. Cho prepared a receipt, and we placed everything in a tamper-evident cabinet while I watched. Then I called an estate attorney, Priya Deshmukh, from the parking lot. She advised me not to investigate alone, accuse anyone publicly, or let the organization control Lena's personal records. We arranged an independent digital copy with hashes witnessed by both sides.

At home, I compared the choir score with the copied invoices. The initials identified students, not board members. Measure numbers corresponded to grant batches, and Lena's dynamic marks tracked whether money reached a program. A penciled rest appeared beside every questionable payment. She had created an index in the one place Peter would dismiss as sentimental clutter. The pattern covered three years and nearly ninety thousand dollars.

Mother and my brother Cal arrived before dinner. Peter had told them I was withholding evidence that Lena secretly borrowed from the fund. I showed them the inventory receipt but not the files, following Priya's advice. Cal demanded to know whether I trusted a lawyer more than family. I said I trusted a process that did not require choosing the most convincing relative. Mother began crying and asked why Lena had carried such a burden without telling us.

That question made me look again at the score. On the inside cover, beneath an old coffee stain, Lena had written my initials beside a measure from the final song we performed together. I played the passage on my keyboard. At the marked pause, my phone rang from an unknown number. A records vendor said Lena had scheduled a secure release to me if she failed to cancel by Monday. To receive it, I had to answer a verification question only the two of us should know.