The blue vinyl folder looked thin on Valerie’s desk, its metal prongs holding only four sheets of paper.
Valerie adjusted the heavy silver frames of her reading glasses and turned the first page with her thumb. The cheap desk fan in the corner of her office hummed, moving the warm air of the limestone strip mall in slow circles.
“It is a standard surrender of parental rights disguised as a corporate exit package,” Valerie said.
I tapped my index finger against the edge of the desk, counting five beats before I answered. My six months of documented evidence of Julian’s shell companies remained untouched in my leather bag.
“They want the twins,” I said. “And they want to make sure I cannot look at the ledger for Vance Enterprises ever again.”
Valerie pointed a manicured finger at the third paragraph of the waiver.
“If you sign this, you are signing away your right to ever audit their books,” she said.
