She walked over to a computer terminal, her fingers tapping the keys in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She frowned, squinting at the monitor before sliding her glasses down her nose.
“Vance,” she said, reading the screen. “There’s an entry for the guardianship of two minors, Eric and Noah. But the files are marked restricted.”
Noah leaned his elbows on the wooden counter. “We are the minors. I’m Noah, and this is Eric. We have our driver’s licenses.”
He slid his ID across the wood, but the clerk didn’t touch it.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The records were sealed by a court order signed by the personal representative, Clara Vance, when the guardianship was closed. You can’t access them without a petition to unseal.”
“Why would she seal them?” I asked.
“The petition says it was to protect the privacy of the children regarding financial assets,” the clerk said, her voice dropping to a professional murmur. “But once they’re sealed, they stay sealed unless a judge signs off.”
