Another photo showed Nathaniel himself.
Sitting inside his car.
Looking exhausted.
Watching.
He had known.
Dear God…
He had known.
Then she found the final page in the bundle.
An insurance policy.
Four million dollars.
Her hands went numb.
Beneficiary: Celeste Laurent Hale.
Secondary beneficiary: Eulalia Marlowe.
A handwritten note sat clipped to the front.
If Celeste receives this money after my death, something happened before I could stop her.
Take the evidence to Daniel Ruiz.
He’ll know what to do.
The name meant nothing to her.
But beneath it was an address in Chicago.
And one final sentence written so deeply into the paper it nearly tore through:
I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.
Eulalia broke then.
Completely.
A sound escaped her throat unlike anything she had ever heard before — not crying, not screaming, but grief collapsing inward on itself.
All this time, she had believed Nathaniel abandoned her with a cruel woman.
But he hadn’t.
He had been trying desperately to shield her from something far darker than humiliation.
And now he was dead.
The wind outside slammed suddenly against the cabin walls hard enough to rattle the windows.
Eulalia flinched violently.
Then she heard it.
Crunch.
Footsteps.
Outside.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Every muscle in her body locked.
No one knew she was here.
No one except—
A shadow moved past the window.
Eulalia stopped breathing.
Another step.
Closer now.
The old floorboards creaked beneath her knees as she scrambled to gather the documents.
Then came the knock.
Three slow taps against the cabin door.
Not loud.
Not impatient.
Confident.
As if whoever stood outside already knew she would open it eventually.
Eulalia clutched Nathaniel’s letter against her chest.
And then a familiar voice drifted through the wood.
“Mrs. Marlowe,” the man called softly.
“I think you found something that belongs to us.”
Leave a Comment