PART 2
A cold sensation passed through me.
“What did they leave?”
Somehow, I already understood.
Even before she answered.
“A picture of Simon and me.”
Beatrice slowly nodded.
“It showed you both walking home after school.”
I lowered myself into a chair.
My legs suddenly felt too weak to hold me.
“Someone had been following us.”
“Yes.”
Grandma Rose brushed tears from her face.
“Kenneth instructed Beatrice to take both boys somewhere far away.”
I turned toward her.
“But we stayed here.”
“Yes.”
I looked back at Beatrice.
“Why didn’t we leave?”
She held my gaze.
“Because Kenneth passed away later that day.”
Nobody spoke.
I remembered that afternoon.
Our teacher had asked Simon and me to leave the classroom.
Grandma Rose arrived to collect us.
I remembered repeatedly asking where Kenneth had gone.
Nobody would answer.
Later that evening, Beatrice sat across from us at the dining table and said, “Your father won’t be coming home.”
At first, I couldn’t understand.
Simon understood immediately.
He began crying uncontrollably.
I faced Beatrice again.
“Why didn’t you report the photograph?”
“Kenneth had made me promise to keep quiet.”
“But he was already gone.”
“That’s precisely why.”
I frowned.
“What are you saying?”
“If someone had targeted Kenneth because of what he’d discovered, I wasn’t about to announce that I knew his secrets too.”
“So you concealed the entire story.”
“I made sure you survived.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“No.”
She looked directly at me.
“But both of you are still here.”
I resented the fact that her reasoning wasn’t entirely impossible.
Grandma Rose settled back into her chair.
“Mason, there’s something else.”
I turned toward her.
Naturally, there was.
After everything I’d learned, why should the surprises stop now?
“What else?”
She gestured toward the envelopes.
“Look at the most recent letters.”
I turned back toward the open drawer.
I began sorting through the envelopes.
Different dates appeared beneath my fingers.
Fourteen years earlier.
Twelve.
Ten.
Seven.
My heartbeat quickened.
“She continued sending them.”
Grandma Rose nodded.
“But Beatrice claimed the letters had stopped.”
I glanced at Beatrice.
She made no attempt to contradict me.
Amelia had continued writing to us for years after Kenneth’s passing.
I unfolded a letter dated ten years earlier.
My beloved boys,
Today, you both turn thirteen.
You’re teenagers already.
It’s almost impossible to imagine.
I found a picture of you on the internet from a school celebration.
Simon, your smile reminds me so much of your father’s.
Mason, your resemblance to me is so remarkable that I closed my computer and spent nearly an hour crying.
I have no way of knowing whether Beatrice ever shares these letters with you.
Something tells me she doesn’t.
But putting these words on paper helps me feel that, in some small way, I still have a place in your lives as your mother.
I wish I could tell you why I haven’t returned for you.
I still believe somebody is keeping track of my movements.
Two weeks ago, I noticed a stranger following me from my workplace to my apartment building.
I can’t tell whether he’s connected to the people Daniel investigated or whether the experiences of the past have made me suspicious of everyone.
Whatever the truth, I refuse to bring that danger anywhere near you.
I lowered the page.
“She stayed away because she wanted us safe.”
Beatrice remained silent.
I reached for another envelope.
This one was dated eight years earlier.
My dear Mason and Simon,
Today, I learned something that suggests Daniel might still be alive.
I don’t know whether the information can be trusted.
But if he’s alive, perhaps Kenneth’s concerns were justified all along.
I’ve decided to try finding him.
If these words ever reach you and I haven’t returned, please don’t believe I’ve abandoned you a second time.
I’m doing everything I can to bring your father back to us.
The paper trembled between my fingers.
“He could be alive?”
Grandma Rose said softly, “There’s another letter.”
I searched until I located the next envelope.
Its date was from seven years earlier.
The message was brief.
Extremely brief.
Beatrice,
I’m aware that you’ve been opening my letters.
I know Kenneth has passed away.
And I know you’ve never explained the truth to the boys.
I’ve chosen to forgive things that would be difficult for anyone to forgive.
But you must take my warning seriously this time.
Daniel was alive.
I located him.
And the wrong people have discovered that I found him.
Take the boys somewhere else.
Don’t explain the reason.
Just get them somewhere safe.
There was nothing more.
I turned toward Beatrice.
“Did we relocate?”
She gave a slow nod.
An old memory suddenly returned.
The summer before my junior year of high school.
Without warning, Beatrice announced that we were changing schools and moving to another neighborhood.
Simon had been extremely upset.
I’d assumed she simply wanted a smaller home.
“Was that why we moved?”
“Yes.”
“Why keep the reason from us?”
“Because frightened sixteen-year-olds sometimes make decisions without considering the consequences.”
“What became of Amelia?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Were there any more letters?”
Beatrice said nothing.
I searched through the remaining contents.
There were no additional envelopes.
Seven entire years.
Not one letter afterward.
I felt deeply unsettled.
“Could she have passed away?”
Grandma Rose whispered, “We have no way of knowing.”
I lowered myself into Kenneth’s chair.
Everything I’d believed when I woke up that morning had changed.
Our mother had never willingly abandoned us.
Our biological father might still be living.
Kenneth’s passing might have involved something far more complicated than we’d been told.
And Beatrice, the woman who had raised Simon and me, had concealed truths from us for twenty years.
Truths we had every right to understand.
Or perhaps she’d also been trying to keep us safe.
I hated having to consider that possibility.
Things would have been simpler if she’d merely been unkind.
But resentment mixed with genuine fear was much harder to understand.
I reached into my pocket for my phone.
Beatrice immediately questioned me.
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’m calling my brother.”
Her expression shifted.
“No.”
I looked up.
“What did you say?”
“Please don’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because he doesn’t know you’ve come here.”
“Obviously he doesn’t.”
“That’s not what I mean. Someone else doesn’t know.”
I slowly lowered my phone.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
Beatrice walked across the study.
“Kenneth shared something with me shortly before he passed away.”
“You said he called that morning.”
“He did.”
“What else did he say?”
“He told me that if circumstances ever forced these secrets into the open, I had to make certain you and Simon weren’t together when you learned them.”
I stared at her.
“For what reason?”
“He believed keeping you apart would make it more difficult for anyone to locate both of you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It made sense to Kenneth.”
Grandma Rose appeared troubled.
“Beatrice, you’ve never mentioned that before.”
“There are plenty of things I haven’t shared with you.”
Suddenly, my phone began vibrating.
All three of us glanced down.
SIMON.
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
“Talk about perfect timing.”
Beatrice reached for my wrist.
“Please don’t pick up.”
I moved my hand away.
“That’s enough.”
“Mason.”
“I’m not allowing you to control what we know anymore.”
I answered.
“Hey.”
Static.
Then Simon’s voice.
“Mason?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
I looked at Beatrice.
“At her house.”
Silence.
Then Simon said, “You need to leave.”
Something in his voice made me sit straighter.
“What?”
“Leave now.”
“Simon, I found out about Amelia.”
Another silence.
Longer.
Then my brother said something I wasn’t prepared for.
“I know.”
I stopped breathing.
Beatrice stared at me.
Grandma Rose frowned.
“What?”
Simon repeated, “I know about Amelia.”
“How?”
“Mason, listen to me.”
“How long have you known?”
“A few months.”
I stood.
“A few months?”
“I was trying to verify everything before I told you.”
“You knew our mother didn’t abandon us?”
“Not all of it.”
I could barely process this.
“What do you know?”
“Enough to tell you to get out of that house.”
“Why?”
“Because Beatrice isn’t telling you the biggest part.”
I looked at her.
Her face turned white.
Simon continued.
“I found Dad’s old storage unit.”
Kenneth.
“You found what?”
“A storage unit under a company name. It took me six months to trace it back to him.”
“What was inside?”
“Files. Tapes. Financial records.”
I looked at the old desk.
“What kind of tapes?”
“Recordings.”
“Of whom?”
Simon lowered his voice.
“Kenneth.”
My heart hammered.
“Kenneth recorded himself?”
“Sometimes. Mostly meetings.”
“Meetings with who?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
I turned slightly away from Beatrice.
“Simon, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I found something with your name on it.”
That stopped me.
“My name?”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“A sealed file.”
“What was in it?”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because someone broke into my apartment two nights ago.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
“What?”
“They didn’t take the laptop. Didn’t take money. Didn’t touch anything except Dad’s files.”
I looked at Beatrice.
Her eyes were locked on mine.
“Did they get them?”
“No. I moved everything.”
“Where?”
“I’m not telling you over the phone.”
“Simon—”
“Mason.”
His voice changed.
“I think someone knows I found the storage unit.”
I walked toward the window and looked out.
Beatrice’s quiet suburban street appeared perfectly normal.
A woman pushed a stroller. A delivery truck sat two houses down. A silver sedan was parked across the street.
I stared at it.
The engine appeared to be running.
“Simon.”
“What?”
“Did anyone follow you recently?”
“Maybe.”
“What kind of car?”
There was a pause.
“Why?”
“What kind?”
“Silver sedan. Older model.”
The blood drained from my face.
Across the street, the driver’s head turned.
I stepped away from the window.
Beatrice whispered, “What is it?”
I ignored her.
“Simon, where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“No.”
“What?”
I looked at the window again.
The sedan hadn’t moved.
“Don’t come here.”
“Mason—”
“Someone may be outside.”
Beatrice rushed toward the curtain.
I grabbed her arm.
“Don’t.”
For once, she listened.
Simon cursed under his breath.
“I’m calling the police.”
“No.”
Beatrice said it sharply.
I stared at her.
“What do you mean, no?”
“If this is connected to Kenneth, the police won’t help.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer.
Of course.
Another secret.
“Beatrice.”
Her eyes filled with something I couldn’t identify.
“Because Kenneth went to the police before he died.”
“And?”
“Someone gave his evidence back to the people he was investigating.”
The room became utterly silent.
Grandma Rose whispered, “How do you know?”
Beatrice looked at her.
“Because Kenneth recognized his own photocopies when they sent them back.”
I stared at her.
“They were warning him.”
“Yes.”
Simon heard everything through the phone.
“Dad kept copies?”
“Apparently,” I said.
“I have them.”
We all froze.
“What?”
Simon repeated, “I have the financial records.”
Beatrice stared at the phone.
“Simon?”
He went silent.
She stepped closer.
“What records?”
“The ones from the storage unit.”
Beatrice’s expression changed in an instant.
Pure terror.
“Destroy them.”
“What?”
“Destroy them now.”
“No.”
“Simon, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Your father died because of those files.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not destr0ying them.”
“Simon—”
“I’m done being scared of ghosts.”
Beatrice looked toward the window.
“They aren’t ghosts.”
Something moved outside.
The silver sedan pulled away from the curb.
I watched it disappear around the corner.
My pulse slowed slightly.
Then my phone chimed.
A text.
Unknown number.
I stared at the screen.
There was an image attached.
I opened it.
My entire body went cold.
It was a photograph of me.
Standing in Beatrice’s upstairs window.
Taken seconds earlier.
Beneath it were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THIS BURIED.
I showed Beatrice.
She covered her mouth.
Grandma Rose started crying.
Simon said through the phone, “What happened?”
I read him the message.
There was silence.
Then Simon whispered, “Mason, get out.”
This time, I listened.
I grabbed the letters.
Beatrice tried to stop me.
“Leave those.”
“No.”
“They’re safer here.”
“Nothing is safe here.”
I shoved the bundles inside my jacket.
Then I noticed something beneath them.
A small black cassette tape.
There was handwriting across the label.
KENNETH — FOR MASON & SIMON.
I picked it up.
Beatrice saw it.
Her face changed.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You knew this was here.”
She stepped toward me.
“Mason, give me the tape.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right.”
I placed it in my pocket.
“That’s why I’m taking it.”
“Mason.”
Grandma Rose stood between us.
“Let him go.”
Beatrice stared at her mother.
Then at me.
Something defeated entered her expression.
“You think the truth will make you feel better.”
I walked toward the door.
“No.”
I looked back at her.
“I think it will finally make me feel like my life belongs to me.”
I left.
I didn’t go home.
Simon and I agreed to meet at his apartment, but halfway there he changed the location.
“Not my place.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me.”
He directed me to an old workshop owned by one of his engineering colleagues.
It was closed on Sundays.
When I arrived, Simon was already waiting.
The moment I stepped inside, he locked the door behind me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he hugged me.
Hard.
My brother rarely hugged anyone.
That was when I realized how frightened he was.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Same.”
We moved into the back office.
A laptop sat on the table beside several file boxes.
I stared at them.
“Kenneth’s?”
Simon nodded.
I removed the letters from my jacket.
“And these are Amelia’s.”
His expression tightened.
“So it’s true.”
“She never a.ban.don.ed us.”
Simon looked down.
For years, my brother had claimed he didn’t care about our biological parents.
Standing there now, he looked like the little boy with the blue blanket again.
“Did she want us?”
I handed him the first letter.
He read silently.
His jaw tightened. Then his eyes filled.
He turned away.
I pretended not to notice.
After a while, he asked, “What else?”
I told him everything.
Daniel.
The investigation.
Kenneth’s suspicious de:ath.
Amelia believing Daniel was alive.
The photograph left in Kenneth’s office.
When I finished, Simon sat quietly.
Then he opened one of the boxes.
“I found something that matches that.”
He removed a folder.
Inside were photocopied bank transfers. Corporate names. Account numbers.
None of it meant anything to me.
Simon pointed to one company.
VALE-HART CONSULTING.
“Vale,” I said.
“Daniel Vale.”
“Exactly.”
“Who’s Hart?”
“That’s where it gets strange.”
He opened the laptop.
“I searched old corporate records.”
He showed me a scanned registration document.
Two directors were listed.
DANIEL VALE.
KENNETH HART.
I stared at it.
“Hart?”
Simon nodded.
“Kenneth’s original surname.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“He changed his name before he married Beatrice.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
I read the record again.
“So Kenneth and Daniel didn’t just work together.”
“No.”
“They owned a company.”
“Yes.”
A horrible possibility formed.
“Beatrice lied again.”
“Maybe.”
I remembered what Grandma Rose said.
Kenneth discovered financial crimes.
Daniel helped him.
But what if that wasn’t the whole story?
“What if Kenneth was involved?”
Simon closed the laptop.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”
I reached into my pocket.
“I found this.”
I placed the cassette tape on the table.
Simon stared at the label.
“For Mason and Simon.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have anything that can play it?”
He gave me a look.
“Engineering workshop.”
Five minutes later, he returned with an old cassette recorder from a storage cabinet.
We sat across from each other.
The machine looked absurdly small.
Such a tiny thing to hold a dead man’s voice.
Simon inserted the tape.
He pressed PLAY.
Static filled the room.
Then Kenneth spoke.
My father.
Seventeen years de:ad.
His voice cracked through the speaker.
“If you’re hearing this, then I failed.”
Simon closed his eyes.
I couldn’t move.
Kenneth continued.
“Mason. Simon. I’m sorry.”
Static.
“There are things I should have told you.”
His voice sounded tired.
Frightened.
“I kept telling myself I had more time.”
A pause.
“I need you to understand first that your mother loved you.”
Simon looked at me.
“Amelia did not a.ban.don you.”
My throat tightened.
“She gave you to me because she believed I could protect you.”
Static.
“Maybe that was her greatest mistake.”
I leaned closer.
Kenneth took a breath.
“Daniel Vale was your biological father.”
We already knew that.
Then he said, “He was also my brother.”
Simon shot upright.
I froze.
“What?”
The tape continued.
“My younger half brother.”
I stared at Simon.
That made Kenneth…
Our uncle.
Our adoptive father had been our biological uncle.
Kenneth’s recorded voice continued.
“Daniel and I started Vale-Hart together. We were young and stupid. We accepted money from men we should never have met.”
Simon whispered, “Jesus.”
“We told ourselves it was business. We asked no questions.”
Static.
“Then Daniel wanted out.”
Kenneth’s voice trembled.
“He had Amelia. He had the boys. He wanted a real life.”
I covered my mouth.
“I agreed to help him collect evidence.”
A long silence.
Then Kenneth said, “But someone betrayed us.”
Simon leaned closer to the recorder.
“I thought it was our accountant.”
Static.
“I was wrong.”
A noise sounded on the tape.
Like Kenneth shifting papers.
“If Beatrice tells you she knew nothing, do not believe her.”
My blood went cold.
Simon stared at me.
Kenneth continued.
“Beatrice knew more than I realized.”
I felt dizzy.
“She knew Daniel.”
Static crackled.
Then Kenneth said the sentence that changed everything again.
“She knew Daniel before she knew me.”
Simon slowly turned toward me.
“What?”
I couldn’t answer.
The tape continued.
“I don’t know how deep her involvement goes.”
Kenneth’s voice became quieter.
“But I found payments.”
Static.
“Payments to an account in her maiden name.”
My heart hammered.
“She says Daniel sent them.”
A long pause.
“I don’t believe her.”
The tape suddenly clicked.
Silence.
“That’s it?” Simon said.
I shook the recorder.
“Maybe the tape ended.”
Then another sound emerged.
Kenneth again.
Much quieter.
As though he had returned later.
“One more thing.”
Simon and I froze.
“If Daniel is alive…”
Static swallowed several words.
“…do not trust him.”
The recording distorted.
Then Kenneth said, “And do not assume Amelia is innocent.”
I stared at the machine.
“No.”
The tape hissed.
“Someone arranged for those men to find Daniel.”
Kenneth’s voice weakened.
“I believe it was someone inside the family.”
Click.
The tape stopped.
Simon and I sat motionless.
For several seconds, the only sound was the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights.
Then Simon said, “Inside the family.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Beatrice.”
“Maybe.”
“Who else?”
Simon looked at me.
“Amelia.”
I didn’t want to hear it.
Not after finally discovering she had loved us.
“No.”
“Dad literally said not to assume she was innocent.”
“He also said he didn’t know.”
Simon nodded.
“That’s true.”
I stood and paced the room.
My entire life had turned into shifting ground.
Every time I thought I had found a solid truth, it disappeared beneath me.
“There’s something else,” Simon said.
I stopped.
“What?”
He reached into his backpack.
“You mentioned Amelia thought Daniel was alive.”
“Yeah.”
“I found this in the storage unit.”
He handed me a photograph.
It was old.
Slightly faded.
A man stood outside a train station.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
I stared at his face.
I knew that face.
Not exactly.
But pieces of it.
My nose.
Simon’s jaw.
The shape of both our eyebrows.
On the back of the photograph, Kenneth had written:
DANIEL — PRAGUE — 2011.
“He was alive,” I whispered.
Simon nodded.
“At least then.”
Another photograph was underneath.
Amelia.
I knew instantly.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me.
Brown hair.
Gray eyes.
She was standing beside Daniel.
The date was the same.
“They were together.”
“Yes.”
“But she wrote to us saying she had just found him.”
“Right.”
I stared at the photograph.
Something felt wrong.
“Who took this?”
Simon opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Neither of us had thought of that.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Secretly.
Someone had been following them.
Simon took out another document.
“I found a hotel receipt in the same folder.”
“Whose?”
“Kenneth’s.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Same city.”
“Same date?”
“Two days later.”
My pulse began racing.
“Kenneth was dead by 2011.”
Simon looked at me.
“Exactly.”
The room went silent.
I grabbed the receipt.
The date was clear.
March 14, 2011.
Kenneth supposedly died in 2009.
“This isn’t possible.”
“That’s what I said.”
“It could be another Kenneth.”
“Look at the signature.”
I did.
I knew that handwriting.
I had just seen it on the cassette.
Kenneth Hart.
“No.”
Simon sat back.
“I ran the receipt number through the hotel archive.”
“You contacted them?”
“Through an old corporate records request.”
“And?”
“The reservation existed.”
“Maybe someone used his name.”
“Maybe.”
My phone rang.
We both jumped.
Unknown number.
Simon shook his head.
“Don’t answer.”
The phone kept ringing.
I stared at it.
Then something came over me.
Anger.
I answered.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
“Who is this?”
Static.
Then a man’s voice.
Old.
Rough.
“Mason?”
Every hair on my body stood up.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
“You sound like him.”
“Like who?”
“Daniel.”
My blood went cold.
Simon moved closer.
I switched the call to speaker.
“Who are you?”
The man breathed slowly.
Then he said, “Your mother told me you found the tape.”
Simon and I stared at each other.
“My mother?”
“Amelia.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“She’s alive?”
The man ignored the question.
“You need to destroy everything Simon took from the storage unit.”
Simon’s face hardened.
“Who are you?”
The voice continued.
“The files. The photographs. Especially the ledger.”
Simon went still.
I looked at him.
“What ledger?”
He didn’t answer.
The man on the phone laughed softly.
“So he didn’t tell you.”
I stared at Simon.
“Tell me what?”
Simon looked away.
“Simon.”
“I was going to.”
“What ledger?”
The caller spoke.
“Ask your brother whose name he found inside it.”
My stomach tightened.
Simon grabbed the phone.
“Enough. Who are you?”
The man became quiet.
Then he said, “You boys should have listened to Beatrice.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, I stared at Simon.
“What ledger?”
He walked toward the boxes.
“Simon.”
“I found an account ledger hidden beneath the floor panel in the storage unit.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know what it meant.”
“Whose names are in it?”
He opened a box.
Then stopped.
His entire body stiffened.
“What?”
He began moving files frantically.
“What is it?”
“It’s gone.”
“What?”
“The ledger.”
He emptied the box.
Nothing.
“When did you last see it?”
“This morning.”
I looked toward the locked workshop door.
No one had entered.
At least not while we were there.
Simon whispered, “Someone’s been here.”
My phone chimed again.
Another message.
Unknown number.
This time there was no photograph.
Only an address.
And beneath it:
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
IF YOU WANT TO MEET AMELIA.
Simon read it over my shoulder.
“No.”
I stared at the message.
“She might be alive.”
“Or it’s a trap.”
“Both can be true.”
“I’m coming.”
“It says alone.”
“I don’t care.”
My phone chimed again.
A second message.
WE KNOW SIMON IS WITH YOU.
Then another.
IF HE COMES, SHE DIES.
Simon swore.
I stared at the address.
It was less than forty minutes away.
An abandoned industrial area near the river.
I should have called the police.
I should have walked away.
But after twenty years of lies, I couldn’t.
Not when Amelia might be waiting at the other end.
Not when answers were finally within reach.
Simon grabbed my shoulder.
“Mason, don’t.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“If she went through everything they say she did—”
“You don’t even know who’s texting you.”
“Exactly.”
He let go.
For several seconds, we stared at each other.
Then Simon said, “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
He ignored that.
“The ledger wasn’t just financial records.”
“What was it?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“People connected to Vale-Hart.”
“So?”
“Kenneth.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Beatrice?”
He nodded.
I swallowed.
“Amelia?”
Simon hesitated.
Then nodded again.
My stomach sank.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because her name had something written beside it.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Courier.”
I frowned.
“Courier?”
“That’s all it said.”
I tried to understand.
“Maybe she delivered documents.”
“Maybe.”
“What else?”
Simon looked uncomfortable.
“There was one more name.”
“Who?”
He said nothing.
“Simon.”
He slowly reached into his wallet.
He removed a folded piece of paper.
“I copied the page.”
I took it.
Several names had been handwritten in columns.
Daniel Vale.
Kenneth Hart.
Amelia Vale.
Beatrice Lennox.
Then, near the bottom, one final name.
Rose Lennox.
Grandma Rose.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Beside her name was a single word.
HANDLER.
My mouth went dry.
“What does handler mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But we both knew it couldn’t mean anything good.
Then I remembered Grandma Rose in the kitchen.
Her insistence that Beatrice tell the truth.
Her guilt.
Her presence twenty years earlier when Beatrice visited Amelia.
Maybe Grandma Rose hadn’t simply been watching from the car.
Maybe she had been involved from the beginning.
I folded the paper.
“I’m going back.”
“What?”
“To Beatrice.”
“Mason, the address—”
“It’s hours before midnight.”
Simon checked his watch.
“Be careful.”
I drove back to Beatrice’s house faster than I should have.
The silver sedan was gone.
The porch light was on.
The front door stood open.
That immediately felt wrong.
“Beatrice?”
No answer.
I stepped inside.
The lilies still sat on the kitchen table.
The birthday gift remained unopened.
A wine glass lay shattered on the floor.
“Beatrice?”
Nothing.
Then I saw the blood.
Not much.
A few drops near the stairs.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I followed them.
“Grandma?”
Silence.
The trail ended near Kenneth’s study.
The door was open.
Inside, drawers had been pulled out.
Papers covered the floor.
Someone had searched the room.
“Beatrice?”
A sound came from downstairs.
I turned.
The basement.
The door stood slightly open.
I moved toward it.
Every instinct told me to leave.
Instead, I descended.
The basement lights were off.
I used my phone flashlight.
“Beatrice?”
Something moved.
I nearly shouted.
Then Grandma Rose stepped into the beam.
She was holding a gun.
I froze.
Her face looked completely different.
No tears.
No fragile old woman.
Nothing grandmotherly remained in her expression.
“Put your phone down, Mason.”
My hand shook.
“Grandma?”
“Down.”
I slowly lowered it.
“Where’s Beatrice?”
“Safe.”
“What does that mean?”
She ignored me.
“Did Simon find the ledger?”
My blood turned cold.
She knew.
I stared at her.
“What’s a handler?”
For the first time, her expression changed.
Just slightly.
She smiled.
Not kindly.
“So Kenneth kept better records than I thought.”
I took a step backward.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your grandmother.”
“Whose mother?”
The question came out before I understood why.
Rose’s smile disappeared.
I suddenly remembered something.
Beatrice and Grandma Rose looked nothing alike.
Not unusual.
But something about the question disturbed her.
I pushed further.
“Are you actually Beatrice’s mother?”
She tightened her grip on the gun.
“Family is more complicated than blood.”
My pulse hammered.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she said, “The woman who kept your family alive for twenty-three years.”
“By killing Kenneth?”
Her face hardened.
“I didn’t kill Kenneth.”
“Who did?”
Before she could answer, footsteps sounded upstairs.
Rose turned slightly.
A mistake.
I rushed her.
The gun fired.
