“MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TOLD ME TO EAT IN THE BATHROOM AT A LUXURY BANQUET—BUT WHEN MY HUSBAND’S GRANDMOTHER OPENED A BLACK FOLDER, HIS ENTIRE FAMILY WENT PALE.”

Evelyn's house was less a mansion than a museum where the chairs were actually comfortable. Photographs of school graduations covered her hallway. She noticed me studying them.

“Those are the first scholarship recipients,” she said. “Back when we asked children what they needed instead of asking donors what they wanted to see.”

Darius arrived ten minutes after us. He spread security logs across the kitchen counter. Entries showed my father had visited headquarters six times in two months. Every entry used a guest pass authorized by Marcus.

“I thought Marcus didn't know,” I whispered.

“He knew Harold was looking,” Darius said. “I don't know what he believed Harold would find.”

Evelyn poured tea none of us drank. “Your father called me the week before he died. He said he had evidence. I asked him to bring it in person. He never arrived.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because Celia said you blamed me for the trouble at work. Because I was ashamed I had waited for another call.”

It was not the answer I wanted, but it was an honest one. We drove to my father's small brick house before dawn. I hadn't been inside since the funeral. His slippers still sat beside the couch; the sight nearly folded me in half.

The workbench stood in the garage. Beneath it was a blue metal cash box secured by a cheap padlock. I knew the combination: the day my mother opened her bakery, a date my father never forgot.

Inside were two flash drives, a yellow notebook, and a sealed letter addressed to me.

My girl,

If this box is open, I waited too long to tell you the truth. I took a bookkeeping job at Whitmore because I worried about you. I found missing money. But money isn't the worst thing missing. Ask for the files labeled HOME VISITS.

I read the letter twice before I noticed something taped to its back: a photograph of Simone Carter outside a boarded-up clinic, standing beside Celia's brother, Victor.

The handwritten date was from eight years earlier.

Darius's phone buzzed. He checked it and quietly swore.