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Inside was a clipped stack of papers and a USB drive in a plastic bag. The top page read, in Grandma’s handwriting, “Timeline of incidents.” Dates ran down the page, meticulously taken down.

The next envelope held what looked like a forged petition.

I flipped through and felt sick. Copies of complaint reports. Screenshots of neighborhood messages. Photos of our yard from angles that meant someone had been inside the fence.

I opened Lydia’s envelope next. “Missing items,” the first sheet said, followed by a list: jewelry box, silver spoon, medication organizer. Next to several entries Grandma had written, “Last seen after Lydia arranged contractor visit.”