Chapter 12: What My Mother Knew
Michael didn’t deny it.
That was how I knew Charles was telling the truth.
He simply stood there beside the Christmas tree, staring at the floor.
I could hear the clock ticking above the fireplace.
Each second felt unbearable.
“You had a letter from my mother?””
Michael swallowed.
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“Five years.””
Five years.
My mother had been dead five years.
For five years, my husband had possessed her final words to me.
“What did it say?””
He looked toward Evelyn.
I snapped.
“Don’t look at her.””
His eyes returned to mine.
“What did my mother write?””
“She warned you about me.””
The words came out barely above a whisper.
I felt strangely calm.
Maybe there was a point where betrayal became too large for immediate emotion.
“What exactly did she say?””
“I don’t remember every word.””
“You kept it for five years.””
“I haven’t read it in years.””
“Where is it?””
Michael hesitated.
My voice sharpened.
“Where is my mother’s letter?””
“At our house.””
I laughed once.
Cold.
Disbelieving.
“I searched the office.””
“It’s not in the office.””
“Where?””
He looked at me.
“Behind our wedding photograph.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“There’s a compartment in the back of the frame.””
The cruelty of it nearly took my breath away.
For five years, my mother’s warning had been hidden behind a photograph celebrating the marriage she had questioned.
Jason whispered, “That’s sick.””
Michael turned.
“Shut up.””
“No,” Jason said.
“You shut up.””
Michael stepped toward him.
Charles moved between them.
“Enough.””
Michael stopped.
I picked up my coat.
“I’m getting that letter.””
“I’ll come with you,” Jason said.
“No.””
I looked at Michael.
“He comes.””
Jason stared at me.
“Sarah—”
“If the letter isn’t there, I want him standing beside me when I find out.””
Michael nodded.
We drove home in silence.
No Christmas music.
No conversation.
Just snow against the windshield.
When we entered the house, I went directly to the living room.
Our large wedding photograph normally stood on the bookshelf.
It was missing.
I stopped.
“Where is it?””
Michael looked confused.
“It was here.””
I turned toward him.
“Where is it?””
“I don’t know.””
I remembered noticing a missing picture when I first arrived.
At the time, I hadn’t understood its importance.
Now I did.
Someone had been here.
Someone knew where the letter was.
Michael rushed toward the bedroom.
“Wait.””
I followed him.
Closet doors open.
Drawers disturbed.
Then he saw something.
The small safe in the closet.
Open.
Empty.
“What was inside?””
I asked.
Michael stared at it.
“Documents.””
“What documents?””
“Copies of everything my father found about the trust.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You kept copies too.””
He ignored that.
“My passport is gone.””
“Anything else?””
He searched.
Then froze.
“What?””
Michael reached into the safe.
Pulled out nothing.
But his expression told me something important was missing.
“What, Michael?””
“The key.””
“What key?””
He looked at me.
“A safe-deposit box.””
Of course there was another secret.
“Where?””
“First Chicago Federal.””
“What’s inside?””
He shook his head.
“It isn’t mine.””
“Then whose is it?””
His voice dropped.
“Your father’s.””
I stared at him.
“How do you have a key to my father’s safe-deposit box?””
“I found it in the blue box.””
I closed my eyes.
Another stolen thing.
Another hidden piece of my father.
“Did you open it?””
“I tried.””
“Tried?””
“The bank required documentation proving authority. I didn’t have it.””
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
I answered.
“I was about to call you,” I said.
“Sarah, something happened.””
“What?””
“Someone attempted to access the trust portal again.””
Michael heard her through the speaker.
“When?””
“Twenty minutes ago.””
We had been driving twenty minutes ago.
Neither of us could have done it.
“Can you identify them?””
“Not yet.””
I looked around the disturbed bedroom.
Someone had entered the house.
Someone had taken the photograph.
The letter.
The key.
“Rebecca, can the trust be accessed with that old signature?””
“No. The protection is active.””
“Then why keep trying?””
She paused.
“Maybe the trust isn’t what they actually want.””
I looked at Michael.
“What else could they want?””
Rebecca asked, “Did your father leave you anything besides the trust documents?””
Michael’s face changed.
I noticed immediately.
“What?””
He shook his head.
But I had learned his tells.
The tightened jaw.
The refusal to meet my eyes.
“There’s something else.””
“No.””
“Michael.””
He turned away.
I grabbed his arm.
“What was in that safe-deposit box?””
“I told you, I never opened it.””
“But you know something.””
He pulled away.
“I know what your father called it.””
“What?””
Michael looked at me.
“Evidence.””
The word landed heavily.
“Evidence of what?””
“I don’t know.””
I stared at him.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph had arrived from the same unknown number that contacted me earlier.
I opened it.
My missing wedding photograph was lying on a wooden table.
The frame had been broken apart.
Beside it was my mother’s envelope.
Unopened.
My name written across the front.
And beside that—
my father’s safe-deposit key.
Under the photograph was one message.
*“If you want your mother’s letter, come alone.””*
I stared at the screen.
Michael moved closer.
“Who sent that?””
Before I could answer, another message arrived.
This one contained an address.
Michael saw it.
And every trace of color vanished from his face.
I looked at him.
“You recognize that address.””
He didn’t answer.
“Michael.””
His eyes met mine.
May you like
And for the first time since Christmas dinner, his fear had nothing to do with losing money.
“That house belonged to Lauren.””
