Chapter 3 - MY MOTHER'S LAST LETTER
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The old study smelled of cedarwood, dust, and the lavender sachets my mother used to tuck between her books.
I had not entered the room in nearly three years.
Dorian had called the restoration a surprise for our twentieth anniversary, even though our anniversary was still months away. I had believed him because believing him had become easier than questioning him.
Now the room looked less like a gift and more like a crime scene.
Several books had been removed from their shelves. A framed photograph of my mother had been turned facedown. The desk drawers stood open, and papers littered the carpet.
Blythe had been searching in a hurry.
I knelt beside the desk and examined its underside. My mother's brass key fit a narrow opening behind a carved wooden panel.
A soft click followed.
The hidden compartment slid outward.
Inside lay a cream-colored envelope, a folded bank statement, and a small photograph.
The envelope bore my name in my mother's handwriting.
My knees weakened.
"Dear Audra," I whispered as I opened it.
The letter was dated six weeks before her death.
My darling girl, if you are reading this, someone has finally forced you to question the people closest to you. I pray it isn't Dorian, because I have never wanted to believe the worst about the man you love.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
The letter continued.
Your father did not leave us in debt. The money disappeared after his death, and I found evidence that someone used his signature to authorize the transfers. I confronted the person responsible. They told me the truth would destroy your future.
My father had died when I was twelve. I had been told that his business collapsed under debt and that his heart gave out shortly afterward.
My mother had worked herself sick paying what remained.
Who had stolen the money?
The next paragraph was worse.
I discovered a connection between your father's missing funds and a company owned by the Kincaid family. I cannot prove who authorized the transfers. I have kept copies of the original records in a place nobody would think to search.
I looked at the bank statement.
A series of transfers had been made from my father's business account to a shell company registered in Delaware. The final payment was dated three days before his death.
The amount was staggering.
And the company had been established by Dorian's father.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Blythe stood in the doorway.
"You shouldn't have opened that."
I rose slowly.
"You've been searching my mother's study."
She glanced at the letter.
"I can explain."
"Then explain why you were wearing her necklace."
Blythe's expression hardened.
"Because Dorian said it belonged to the family."
"It belonged to my mother."
"He said you had given it to him."
I stared at her.
"Did you believe him?"
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me enough.
"Why are you looking for my father's records?"
Blythe stepped inside and closed the door.
"Because your husband isn't the only person who could lose everything if those documents become public."
Before I could question her further, she reached into her handbag and produced a photograph.
It showed Dorian standing beside an older man outside a warehouse.
The older man was my father.
Alive.
The date printed on the back was two days after the death certificate claimed he had died.
I looked up.
May you like
Blythe's voice trembled.
"Audra, your father may not have died when everyone told you he did."
