Chapter 2 - The Envelope Beneath the Roses
Penelope arrived twenty-eight minutes later.
I knew because I spent every one of those minutes staring at the envelope.
I placed it on Dad’s kitchen table.
I didn’t open it.
That required more discipline than I expected.
The envelope seemed to pull at me.
Dad had been dead for three weeks, and suddenly there were words from him sitting six inches from my hand.
When Penelope entered, she didn’t even remove her coat.
“Where is it?”
I pointed.
She looked at the envelope and closed her eyes.
“You recognize it?” I asked.
“I recognize the handwriting.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Penelope looked at me.
She was sixty-two, silver-haired, composed, and almost impossible to intimidate.
I had seen her negotiate contracts with men who owned skyscrapers.
But now she looked nervous.
“Your father asked me something strange two months before he died.”
“What?”
“He asked whether a handwritten letter could supplement an estate plan without becoming part of the will itself.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did you tell him?”
“That it depended on what the letter contained.”
She sat opposite me.
“Open it.”
I slid my finger beneath the seal.
Inside was a folded letter and a small brass key.
I unfolded the paper.
My dearest Paige,
My vision blurred immediately.
I stopped.
Penelope waited.
I started again.
If you are reading this, then you are tending the roses. That means you remembered what I taught you. It also means someone has probably become impatient.
I looked at Penelope.
“Someone?”
“Keep reading.”
There are things I could not tell you while I was alive because knowing them would have placed you in the middle of a conflict I created intentionally. For that, forgive me.
You may soon hear that I became confused during my illness. You may hear that Calvin remained close to me because I forgave him. You may even hear that Kyle acted on my instructions.
My hands shook.
Dad had known.
Believe none of those claims without evidence.
Calvin believed our Sunday meetings meant reconciliation. They did not. I kept him close because a man who believes he is trusted eventually tells you what he wants.
I stopped.
“Oh my God.”
Penelope’s expression didn’t change.
“Continue.”
Calvin wants this property. He has wanted it for years. Recently, he began asking questions about my estate, my medical condition, and whether certain documents could be changed if my capacity declined.
My stomach turned.
I also discovered that Kyle has serious financial problems. Do not judge your brother until you know the whole truth, but do not trust him blindly either.
I swallowed.
The key enclosed opens the lower drawer of my desk. Inside you will find instructions. Follow them with Penelope present. Do not confront anyone before the will reading.
Then came the line that broke me.
And Paige, whatever happens tomorrow, remember this: the house was never my greatest legacy. You were.
I covered my mouth.
For three weeks I had tried not to cry every time I entered Dad’s house.
Now I couldn’t stop.
Penelope moved beside me.
I let myself cry for perhaps a minute.
Then I wiped my face.
“Let’s open the drawer.”
Dad’s study smelled exactly the same.
Leather.
Old books.
Cedar.
Coffee that somehow seemed permanently absorbed into the wood.
His desk sat beside the windows overlooking the rose garden.
I inserted the brass key into the bottom drawer.
Click.
Inside was a black folder.
On top, Dad had written:
PENELOPE MUST WITNESS THIS.
I looked at her.
“Dad really didn’t trust anyone.”
“He trusted carefully.”
Inside were photocopies of financial records.
Emails.
Bank transfers.
A document showing that Kyle had borrowed $480,000 against his share in a business Dad had helped him establish.
Another showed payments from a company I didn’t recognize.
Grant Meridian Consulting.
“What is this?”
Penelope studied it.
“I don’t know.”
Then I saw the recipient.
Kyle Morgan.
Three payments.
$40,000.
$60,000.
$100,000.
Two hundred thousand dollars total.
I flipped through more pages.
Then I found an incorporation record.
Grant Meridian Consulting had been created eighteen months earlier.
Its registered representative was an attorney whose firm had represented Calvin in our divorce.
My blood went cold.
“Calvin paid Kyle?”
“Possibly.”
“For what?”
Penelope continued reading.
Then she pulled out another document.
A handwritten note from Dad.
Calvin offered Kyle money to support a future capacity challenge. I have not yet determined whether Kyle accepted knowingly or whether he believes these payments are loans.
I sat down.
My brother.
My own brother.
Penelope touched my shoulder.
“Don’t assume more than the evidence shows.”
“He took two hundred thousand dollars from a company connected to Calvin.”
“Yes.”
“And Tabitha knows about Dad’s medical condition.”
“Yes.”
“What are they trying to do?”
Penelope closed the folder.
“I believe they expected tomorrow’s will to favor you.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Tabitha thinks the house is going to Calvin.”
“Maybe that’s what Calvin told her.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because people reveal more when they think they’ve already won.”
Exactly what Tabitha had done.
Penelope opened another section.
There was a sealed flash drive.
A note was attached.
Play only after the will is read.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re Dad’s lawyer.”
“And your father enjoyed making sure even his lawyer didn’t know everything.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
That sounded like Dad.
Penelope stood.
“Tomorrow, you say nothing unless I ask you a direct question.”
“What if Calvin challenges the will?”
“Let him.”
“What if Kyle supports him?”
“Let him.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“Your father paid me for twenty-seven years. Eventually something rubbed off.”
I looked toward the window.
The roses moved gently in the afternoon breeze.
Then my phone buzzed.
Kyle.
I stared at his name.
“Don’t answer,” Penelope said.
But a message appeared.
Paige, we need to talk before tomorrow. Please. There are things you don’t understand.
Another message arrived.
Dad wasn’t himself at the end.
My heart sank.
Then a third.
Whatever happens tomorrow, don’t fight this. It’ll only make things worse.
I showed Penelope.
She read them twice.
“Save these.”
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow Kyle may wish he had never sent them.”
I looked at the black folder.
“Do you know what Dad’s will says?”
Penelope met my eyes.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’m not permitted to tell you before the formal reading.”
“Can you tell me whether Tabitha is right?”
She paused.
Then gave me the faintest smile.
“I can tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“Tabitha should have kept her mouth shut.”
That night, I slept in my childhood bedroom.
Or tried to.
At 2:17 a.m., headlights swept across the ceiling.
A car had entered the driveway.
I got out of bed.
Through the window, I saw someone moving near the side entrance.
A man.
Tall.
Familiar.
My phone rang.
Penelope.
“Paige,” she said urgently, “is the security system armed?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t go downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I just received an alert from your father’s private office system.”
My heart hammered.
“Someone’s in the house?”
“No.”
She paused.
“Someone is trying to get into Everett’s study.”
I looked through the window again.
The man stepped beneath the garden light.
And this time I saw his face.
It was my brother.
May you like
Kyle.
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