Chapter 2: The Missing Page

At nine the next morning, Mara stood in the town archive with her attorney, Priya Shah. The records room smelled of old paper and lemon polish. A clerk named Helen brought them three boxes and a pair of cotton gloves.

“The flood damaged the index,” Helen said. “The documents were dried and refiled, but some numbers were changed.”

Priya opened the first box. Mara checked the clock. They had less than two hours before mediation.

They found property maps, a maintenance agreement, and a receipt for a delivery of soil. In the second box, they found the original deed to the narrow strip behind the garden. It named Mara’s grandmother, June Ellison, and a company called Ellison Works. Adrian’s late father had owned the company.

“That explains the shared interest,” Priya said. “But not the public access agreement.”

Helen searched another index. “There should be a supplemental covenant. It’s listed here.” She ran a finger down a page. “Box nineteen.”

Box nineteen contained a folder with an empty cover. The label read ACCESS AND MAINTENANCE. A paper clip remained attached to one corner, leaving a rust-colored mark.

Mara felt her stomach tighten. “Was it lost?”

“I can’t say.” Helen checked a small card inside the folder. “Someone requested this file six months ago.”

The signature was a single initial and a surname: A. Ellison.

Adrian.

Priya photographed the card. “He had the right to inspect it. That doesn’t mean he removed anything.”

Mara nodded. She would not accuse him without evidence. But he had said they had all the documents, and the request card suggested he knew there was another.

At mediation, Adrian sat beside Ellis across a polished table. A pitcher of water and four glasses stood between them. The mediator, retired Judge Leon Park, explained that no one would be forced to sign an agreement that day.

Adrian presented the development plan. Forty accessible apartments, a clinic on the ground floor, and a landscaped courtyard. Mara studied the drawings. She supported affordable housing; her own mother had struggled to find an accessible apartment after a fall. But there was no entrance to the courtyard from the street.

“Could the garden remain public?” she asked.

“The building needs security,” Adrian said. “Residents can invite visitors.”

“That's different from a public space.”

Ellis slid forward a valuation. “The garden occupies a valuable parcel. The settlement compensates your client generously.”

Priya placed the archive request card on the table. “What happened to the supplemental covenant?”

Adrian stared at it. “I requested the file.”

“Did you see the covenant?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it now?”

“I gave a copy to our planning consultant.”

Mara waited. “And the original?”

“I returned everything.”

Helen had not accused him of taking it. Neither did Priya. She asked the mediator for a pause while they obtained the consultant’s copy.

Adrian rubbed his forehead. “The covenant is old. Our lawyer says it may not be enforceable.”

“Then we should let everyone read it,” Mara said.

He called the consultant. No answer. He sent a message and set his phone face down.

The mediator asked whether the transfer could be delayed until both sides had the document. Ellis objected: the developer’s financing deadline was Friday. If the sale fell through, the housing project might collapse.

Mara looked again at the drawing of the apartments. “I don't want people to lose housing. I want the plan to respect the agreement.”

Adrian’s expression softened. For a moment she saw the man who had once spent a Saturday repairing a greenhouse door with her. Then his phone buzzed.

He read the message and went pale.

“The consultant says he never received the covenant,” he said.

Mara heard rain begin against the windows. Someone had a copy, or someone had made a mistake. The only thing she knew was that the garden gate was still locked.

Judge Park closed his notebook. “Then our next task is to find out exactly what happened.”

During a break, Judge Park asked the parties to write down the outcomes they wanted most. Adrian wrote that the apartments needed to open before winter and that the project should remain financially viable. Mara wrote that neighbors needed housing and that the garden should remain accessible to everyone.

When the mediator placed the lists side by side, the first item on each was nearly the same. Adrian stared at the pages. “I thought you would write that nothing should change,” he said.

“Things already have changed,” Mara replied. “People are waiting for homes. My mother is one of them. I simply don't believe the only choice is between an apartment and a garden.”

Ellis reminded them that the land was limited and construction costs were real. Priya agreed. Neither attorney could promise that the compromise would be easy. The mediator asked them to return with costs, records, and alternatives rather than assumptions about each other's motives.

Mara left carrying both lists. At the door she turned back and asked Adrian to send a copy of the project schedule. He promised to do it before evening. For once, she had made a request he could either fulfill or fail without anyone guessing what he meant.