The secretary offered me a time the following morning.
I arrived carrying the folder in a plain canvas bag.
The notary, a serious woman named Joanna Zielińska, listened without interrupting as I explained where I had found everything.
Then she examined the documents one by one.
At first, her expression was neutral.
Then she stopped.
She turned back to the first page, checked the date, and reached for another file.
“Mrs. Krawczyk,” she said slowly, “where exactly did you find this copy?”
“Inside an iron box in the cellar. My father-in-law left me a key.”
She compared the document with the records before her.
“I will need to verify the current land-register entry and the original instrument before I can give you a definitive answer. A copy alone does not establish every aspect of ownership.”
My stomach tightened.
“So it may mean nothing?”
“I did not say that.”
She looked at me over her glasses.
