Chapter 2 - The Letter Emily Never Sent
I read the line twice.
Then a third time.
My hands started shaking.
Emily had been dead for three years.
A car accident, the police said. Black ice. A broken guardrail. No witnesses.
I had believed every word because grief makes you stupid in quiet ways. It makes you accept paperwork because paperwork feels easier than asking why the person you loved never came home.
Celeste reached for the letter.
“That is private.”
I folded it against my chest.
“It has my dead wife’s name on it.”
“It was in my room.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
My father, Richard Cole, stepped forward.
“Ethan, not here.”
I looked at him.
He wasn’t surprised.
That scared me more than Celeste did.
“You knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That this existed.”
His eyes moved toward my mother.
Margaret stared at the floor.
Noah wrapped both arms around my leg.
I picked him up.
He buried his face in my neck.
Anna stayed on the floor until I held out my hand.
“Stand up.”
She hesitated.
Celeste said, “She’s fired.”
“No,” I said.
Her eyes flashed.
“This is my house too.”
I looked around the mansion.
Technically, she was right. My parents had signed half the property into a family trust two months earlier, and Celeste was supposed to become part of that trust after our wedding in eleven days.
Supposed to.
“Not anymore,” I said.
Her face changed.
“What?”
I turned to security.
“Close the gates.”
My father grabbed my arm.
“Ethan, stop.”
I pulled free.
“Every guest stays until I know why a letter from Emily was hidden in Celeste’s bedroom.”
A banker near the doorway coughed awkwardly.
Someone whispered, “Should we call the police?”
Celeste laughed once.
A sharp, humorless sound.
“You want to imprison two hundred people because a child stole a paper?”
“No. I want to keep one person from leaving.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re making a serious accusation.”
“I haven’t made one yet.”
I opened the letter.
The page was torn at the bottom.
Only half remained.
I read aloud.
“Ethan, if anything happens to me, do not believe it was an accident. Someone inside your family knows about the Harbor Account. I made copies. I hid one where Noah sleeps under—”
The sentence stopped.
The page had been ripped cleanly in half.
Noah lifted his head.
“Under my bed?”
Celeste went white.
I saw it.
So did Anna.
I handed Noah to her.
“Take him upstairs.”
Celeste stepped in front of them.
“No one goes anywhere.”
I moved between her and my son.
“Move.”
She smiled again.
May you like
But her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear.
“If you search that room, your father goes to prison.”
