That sounded exactly like Mom once she stopped panicking.
But the box held one more thing.
A smaller envelope beneath the letter.
Ethan opened it.
Inside was a storage-unit receipt.
And a note:
The original records are there. Rachel’s letters. Daniel’s confession. Grandpa’s ledger showing the payment. And one letter your mother wrote to you before she died. I did not open it. That belongs only to you.
Ethan stared at Daniel.
“You knew about that letter?”
Daniel began shaking his head.
Then stopped.
“Yes.”
I felt something inside me break.
“You knew Rachel wrote to her son?”
“Yes.”
“Where was it?”
“Grandpa had it.”
“And after Grandpa died?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I found it.”
“How long ago?”
“Eleven years.”
Ethan stood.
His chair scraped backward.
For the first time, I thought he might hit my brother.
He didn’t.
That restraint made the moment worse.
“You had a letter from my dead mother for eleven years.”
