Chapter 2 - A Dead Woman's Handwriting
I reached for the envelope. My father caught my wrist before I could touch it.
"This is forged," he said.
Gabriel didn't blink. "Then you won't mind an independent examination."
"Security."
Two guards approached from the doors. Gabriel quietly produced a laminated guest credential. "Your event director confirmed my invitation. If anyone touches me, you'll explain to the press why you removed an invited guest carrying records of a charitable foundation."
My father looked at the credential, then at Evan. "Get him out."
Evan hesitated. That hesitation was more help than he'd given me all year.
"Richard," my mother said, her smile breaking. "We should talk somewhere private."
"No," I said.
The word surprised me. It surprised everyone.
"You said I stole money. Say where it went. Show me something."
Dad tilted his head. "Sweetheart, you're upset."
"I'm angry. There's a difference."
A woman near the floral display lifted her phone. Claire reached for it, asking her to stop recording. The woman moved away.
Gabriel spoke to me rather than to my family. "Your grandmother left instructions. I need five minutes, and I need you to choose where we talk."
"She left instructions with you? Who are you to her?"
"I represented one of her former employees. Then she hired me."
He offered a business card. Gabriel Ward, forensic accountant. The address was a modest office across town, nowhere near the sleek towers where my father kept his lawyers.
Dad gave a cold laugh. "A hired number cruncher. Wonderful."
"A number cruncher can read account numbers," Gabriel replied.
My mother slipped between us. "Sophie, darling, you know how tired your grandmother was. She'd become suspicious of everyone."
"She knew my birthday," I said. "She remembered every little thing I told her."
"That isn't what I meant."
"You always say that after you say something cruel."
I took Gabriel's card and turned to the room. "I'm leaving. If anybody wants to know whether I stole your donations, ask for the bank statements. I haven't seen them either."
The guests parted. My father didn't stop me. That scared me more than if he'd shouted.
Outside, cold rain hit my face. Gabriel followed but kept a respectful distance.
"I didn't mean to make you a spectacle," he said.
"You didn't. They did."
"Your grandmother recorded a message before she died. She gave me permission to show it only after Richard accused you of a financial crime."
"Why wait?"
"Because she hoped he wouldn't go that far."
Gabriel opened the envelope beneath the awning. Inside was a small brass key, a photograph of my grandmother in front of a brick warehouse, and a note with an address.
"She wanted you to go here before anyone else did."
I recognized the building. Three months before her death, Grandma had taken me there and asked an odd question: If you could rebuild one piece of this city, where would you start?
I told her I'd start by making sure nobody had to beg for a safe place to sleep.
May you like
Gabriel's phone rang. He checked the screen and went pale.
"The warehouse alarm was triggered two minutes ago," he said. "Someone's already inside."
