Chapter 7: The Letter From My Dead Brother
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Daniel stood in the middle of my mother's living room, holding an envelope with my brother's handwriting on it.
My brother, who had supposedly died three years ago.
My brother, whose funeral I had attended.
My brother, whose empty bedroom I had refused to touch for months.
And Daniel had received a letter from him three weeks ago.
"Give it to me," I whispered.
Daniel hesitated.
"Emily, you need to understand—"
"Give. It. To. Me.""
He handed it over.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I recognized the handwriting immediately. Ethan had always written with his letters slightly tilted to the right. He crossed his sevens with a small horizontal line and dotted his i's too heavily.
I had teased him about it since we were children.
The letter began:
Daniel,
If you're reading this, it means I've finally found a way to contact you without putting Emily in danger.
You have one responsibility. Keep her away from Robert Mitchell.
My father is not the man she remembers.
And whatever happens, don't let her marry into a family built on lies.
I stopped reading.
Daniel lowered his head.
There was more.
I know you love her. That's why I'm asking you to do something that may hurt her. Don't tell her I'm alive until I can prove the truth.
Someone inside our family has been helping him. I don't know who I can trust.
Watch Vanessa.
And whatever you do, don't let Emily go to Savannah.
The letter ended with three words.
I'm sorry, brother.
I looked up.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
Daniel swallowed.
"Because I thought it was a trap.""
"A trap?""
"I received it through a courier. There was no return address. I tried contacting the number written inside, but it was disconnected.""
"Then why keep it?""
"Because the handwriting was real.""
I felt tears running down my cheeks.
"You knew he was alive.""
"I suspected.""
"For three weeks, Daniel. Three weeks while I was planning our wedding, choosing flowers, writing vows, and talking about our future.""
He stepped closer.
"I didn't know how to tell you.""
"You could have started with the truth!""
Michael grabbed the letter.
"There's something else here.""
He pointed to the bottom corner.
A tiny symbol had been drawn beneath Ethan's signature.
A lighthouse.
I recognized it immediately.
When we were children, Ethan and I had a secret meeting place near an old lighthouse outside Charleston. We called it our headquarters. Whenever one of us was upset, we would meet there and talk.
I hadn't visited in years.
"He's telling us where to find him," I whispered.
Daniel shook his head.
"Emily, the letter specifically says not to go to Savannah.""
"Then we'll go somewhere else.""
Michael looked at the photograph of our mother.
"We don't have time to investigate everything. We need to get Mom back.""
My phone vibrated again.
*Unknown:* You have thirty minutes. Come to the old warehouse on King Street. Bring Daniel. No police.
Michael immediately called the officer.
"We're not going anywhere without backup.""
The officer advised us to stay inside until additional units arrived.
But then another message appeared.
This time, it was a video.
My mother was sitting in the same chair, crying.
A man's hand entered the frame and placed a glass of water beside her.
Then a voice spoke.
"Emily, your father sends his regards.""
The video ended.
I stared at the screen.
My father.
Robert Mitchell.
The man whose funeral I had attended.
Michael paced across the room.
"Whoever this is, they're trying to control us.""
Daniel examined the video.
"Look at the background.""
"What?""
"The window. That's not a warehouse.""
He enlarged the image.
Behind my mother was a distinctive green curtain with a gold embroidered pattern.
I knew that curtain.
It belonged to the old Mitchell family estate outside Charleston.
The house had been sold after my father's supposed death.
But there was something else.
A clock on the wall.
It was the antique grandfather clock that had stood in our family dining room for twenty years.
I turned toward Michael.
"They're at the estate.""
He nodded.
"We need to get there.""
Daniel grabbed his jacket.
"Emily, I'm coming with you.""
I looked at him.
"I don't know whether I can trust you anymore.""
He didn't argue.
"I understand.""
For the first time, I saw something in his eyes that wasn't fear.
It was guilt.
We left the house with two police officers following us in an unmarked vehicle.
The estate stood behind a row of old oak trees, its white columns partly hidden by overgrown ivy.
When we arrived, the front door was open.
Michael went in first.
I followed.
The house smelled of dust, old wood, and something familiar.
My childhood.
On the dining room table sat three objects.
A wedding invitation.
A photograph of Ethan.
And a second envelope.
This one was addressed to me.
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten message.
Emily, if you want your mother alive, you must choose.
Your wedding or your family.
Then I heard footsteps coming from the staircase.
A man's voice followed.
"Still choosing the wedding, sweetheart?""
I looked up.
A tall figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
He was older, thinner, and had gray hair.
But I recognized his face.
May you like
My father smiled.
"Hello, Emily.""
