I stared at the receipt.
There was a date.
Three weeks after Ethan’s funeral.
Then Daniel said something that made the room go cold.
“She also gave me something else.”
“What?”
“A note.”
He unfolded a piece of paper.
The handwriting wasn’t Ethan’s.
It belonged to someone else.
The message was short.
Don’t give Margaret the letters. Ethan’s death wasn’t as simple as she thinks.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve had this for thirteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Of what?”
Daniel looked toward Clara.
“Of finding out what actually happened to Ethan.”
Silence filled the room.
Clara slowly stood.
“You said the surgery went wrong.”
“It did.”
“But you think something else happened?”
Daniel nodded.
“I think Ethan may have known something before he went into that operating room.”
