The bond carries a faint shift now. Pain still there. But beneath it, a thread of anger finding direction.
Sen lifts her chin. “Even if the document is limited, it remains signed by Eleanor Hartwell. Helix requests Eleanor Hartwell be called to clarify whether she knowingly cooperated with mineral review.”
The room turns.
I feel Lucy’s alarm flash bright.
Samuel steps forward. “Eleanor is not well enough for—”
Jessa disappeared from the recorder table ten minutes ago.
I understand why only when Eleanor Hartwell’s voice rises from the rear doors.
“I am here.”
The chamber parts.
Eleanor enters with Jessa at one side and Celia at the other, though she leans on neither of them. She is smaller than Lucy by a measure, her curls streaked with silver, her face drawn from too little sleep and too many days spent sorting burial maps no one should have needed to defend.
Lucy turns toward her mother.
For one moment, neither woman moves.
Then Eleanor’s eyes lift to the document bearing her name.
She does not flinch.
That tells me something.
Salo speaks carefully. “Eleanor Hartwell, are you willing to give limited testimony regarding rebuttal exhibit twelve?”
“I am.”
“Do you recognize the signature?”
Eleanor looks at it for a long time. “Yes.”
Lucy’s face goes pale.
I want the room emptied. Want the display dark. Want Helix removed from every surface where it can watch this family be cut open.
Instead, I stand still.
Salo continues. “Is it yours?”
“Yes,” Eleanor says. “That is my signature.”
Sen’s expression softens with victory.
Then Eleanor moves nearer the display.
“But that is not my document.”
The chamber stills.
Eleanor points to the line above her name. “I signed an access acknowledgment after the north well collapse. Two surveyors came claiming they needed to check underground stability before we repaired the cistern channels. I signed permission for inspection of water safety only. Not mineral review. Not commercial access. Not common land transfer.”
I feel the pieces align.