He didn’t startle. Didn’t turn around.
“I know there has to be more,” he said. “Dad wouldn’t leave everything to you.”
“Your father trusted me,” I replied. “Something you clearly never learned to do.”
Now he did turn. His face was twisted with something between rage and desperation.
“You’ve destroyed everything,” he said. “The deal’s collapsed. Melissa’s creditors are calling. My firm is investigating why I took so much time off without explanation.”
“Actions have consequences,” I said simply.
He laughed bitterly.
“Always the teacher, even now.”
“Not a lesson,” I corrected. “Justice.”
I moved to the bookshelf and pulled out an old leather-bound copy of Walden, Nicholas’s favorite book—the one he’d read aloud to me during long winter evenings when the children were asleep. From between its pages, I withdrew a sealed envelope.
“Your father wrote this for you the week before he died,” I said. “I was going to give it to you after the funeral, before I understood what you really were.”
