I looked at the envelope.
For eighteen years, I'd mourned Henry.
I'd trusted that I understood his wishes.
I'd believed he'd left me the company because he knew I'd protect it.
Now Daniel was claiming there had been another will.
Another heir.
Another secret.
With Detective Grant present, I opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
*My dearest Gloria,*
*If you're reading this, then I failed to tell you something before I died.*
My eyes filled.
*I loved you more than anything in this world.*
*But I made a terrible mistake when I trusted Malcolm.*
My chest tightened.
I continued.
*He knew about the Whitmore family trust.*
*He knew about Eleanor.*
*And he knew something about Trevor that I was too frightened to confront.*
I stopped breathing.
Trevor.
My son.
The boy I'd carried.
Raised.
Loved.
What could Henry have discovered?
I turned the page.
Then the final paragraph made my hands go numb.
