The legal answer remained less satisfying than the arithmetic. The certificate was part of the residuary estate, divided among family. Most claims would be barred by time. Mae said we could follow the will or sign a family settlement recognizing a voluntary obligation. Either choice needed informed consent. Our cousins arrived expecting furniture and found themselves debating labor performed before some of them were born.

We held the meeting at the community center with three surviving workers present. Mrs. Bell did not ask for gratitude or interest. She asked that the record say the women had earned the money. Another worker, Celeste, wanted her share directed to her grandson's culinary program. The third wanted cash and no ceremony. Their different wishes punctured my fantasy of one beautiful act repairing everyone at once.

Elian requested a full accounting before deciding. For two weeks we matched invoices, tax returns, bank statements, and equipment records. We found mistakes but no hidden fortune. Grandma had saved the business through work and control so tightly intertwined that our family had mistaken both for heroism. The certificate could honor the checks, but doing so would reduce every heir's distribution. Nobody could pretend otherwise.

Our youngest cousin, Paige, ended the argument. She said she had inherited the family story without doing any of the labor, so she could afford to give up part of its reward. One by one, we signed the settlement. Elian signed last, after adding language preserving each recipient's choice about privacy. When Mae counted the signatures, she pointed to the unresolved line. Six checks had legal recipients or estates. Lark still had no surname. The reserved money could not wait forever, and every additional search reduced what the estate could preserve for the person Grandma had tried, however imperfectly, to pay years ago.