Chapter 12
The next morning, Chloe and I sat across from the attorney in a small conference room that smelled of burnt coffee and lemon cleaner. She had the deputy’s report open on the table, while Dad’s note lay between us, its familiar handwriting softened by the fold.
The attorney read the report without rushing. No one had been found inside the cottage; the damage and scattered papers had been photographed. Nothing in it named who had entered, and the empty space where the envelope had been offered no explanation.
“I wanted to believe the note was enough,” Chloe said, looking at Dad’s words. “That it would make them stop.”
“It tells us what your father wanted,” the attorney said. “It doesn’t tell us what Lorraine or Blake will claim he wanted.”
Chloe’s eyes moved to mine. I let the silence stay there. I loved her; I was furious with her; neither feeling erased the other.
My phone rang. The lender’s number appeared on the screen, and I answered on speaker so no one would have to guess at what was said.
The representative confirmed that funding had been paused temporarily while the new authorization was reviewed. Then she said the replacement had been submitted through an account registered to Lorraine Bell.
Chloe went rigid. “Mom sent it?”
“That’s what the submission record shows,” I said.
The attorney asked the representative to preserve the upload and its associated records. I added that I had not authorized the document, and Chloe repeated her denial. The lender made no promise about how long the pause would last.
When the call ended, Chloe stared at her hands. “She didn’t even ask me to lie this time.”
“She didn’t need you to,” I said.
The words struck harder than I meant them to. Chloe flinched, but she didn’t look away.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, then turned the screen toward us. Blake’s business page had a new post: a photo of him leaning against his truck outside a row of storage units, with a caption about keeping a company moving through a difficult season.
A cream envelope sat on the passenger seat behind him. Even through the windshield glare, Dad’s looping handwriting was visible across it.
Chloe’s breath caught. “That’s it.”
The room seemed to tilt—not my body, just the world I’d been trying to keep level since the engagement party.
The attorney studied the image. “Don’t go near the truck. Save the post and call the sheriff’s office.”
Chloe took a screenshot. Her fingers shook so badly that she had to try twice.
Ethan was waiting outside. He looked at my face, then at Chloe’s phone, and understood enough not to ask us to repeat it. We showed him the image in the car, and his jaw tightened.
“We’re not walking up to him,” I said.
“No,” Ethan replied. “We’ll call first.”
I did. I gave the dispatcher the address shown in the business post and explained that an envelope containing family property was in Blake’s truck. A deputy could meet us nearby, the dispatcher said. Until then, we were to stay in our vehicle and avoid contact.
We parked on the public road across from the storage yard, where the gate and office were both in view. The truck stood just inside the entrance. Its windshield flashed white under the morning sun, hiding the envelope from where we sat.
My baby shifted low in my abdomen. I pressed my palm there and waited until the familiar movement eased the knot in my chest. Then I kept my seat belt fastened.
Chloe watched the gate. “If he leaves with it—”
“We don’t chase him,” I said.
“I know.”
“I mean it. We wait for the deputy.”
She nodded, but guilt had sharpened her face. “I gave Mom a way to get the key. I gave Blake the picture of your signature. Now he has Dad’s letter because I kept thinking if I helped just enough, everyone would stop fighting.”
Ethan rested a hand on the console between us, close but not touching her. “You can’t undo those choices by making another dangerous one.”
Chloe swallowed. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not ready.”
Her eyes shone, but she nodded again. I turned back toward the gate. The storage-yard office door opened, and Blake stepped out.
He looked across the road, spotted our car, and stopped. Then he lifted the envelope in one hand.
“Stay here,” Ethan said.
Blake walked to the edge of the lot, not crossing the road. A moment later, the envelope rested on his open palm, its flap bent but still sealed. The sight of Dad’s handwriting made my throat ache. I wanted to get out and take it from him. I wanted to hold the paper and hear my father’s voice in the words he had left us.
Instead, I stayed behind the locked door.
“You know that belongs to us,” I called through the open window.
Blake gave a thin smile. “Your father left it with the cottage papers.”
“He left it to his daughters.”
“He left instructions.” Blake raised the envelope slightly. “And they don’t match the story your mother’s been telling.”
Chloe leaned forward. “What did Mom send you?”
“An authorization. The lender has it.”
“The lender paused the funding,” I said.
“For now.” His gaze moved to my stomach, then back to my face. “You should hear what your father actually wrote before you decide I’m the villain.”
The deputy’s cruiser turned onto the road behind us. Ethan saw it in the mirror, but I kept my eyes on Blake.
May you like
He tapped the envelope with one finger.
“There’s a condition in this letter your father never told you about.”
