I couldn’t move.
My fingers were still resting on the edge of the box, but my mind had stopped working.
Grace stood across from me, her face pale and her eyes filled with tears.
“Grandma,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”
I looked down again.
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The first documents were old insurance papers, bank statements, and copies of legal documents. Some were dated just weeks before my son’s death.
But that wasn’t what frightened me.
It was the photograph underneath them.
I pulled it out slowly.
My heart began pounding.
It was a picture of my son, Daniel, standing beside a man I didn’t recognize.
On the back, someone had written a date.
It was the day before the accident.
I looked at Grace.
“Where did you find this?”
“Behind the cabinet,” she said. “There was a loose piece of wood. I was trying to move it because I thought something had fallen behind it.”
