Chapter 11 - The Unopened Envelope
That evening, I returned to my mother’s old townhouse in the quiet streets of the Upper East Side. For the first time in three years, the house felt warm. The dust sheets were gone, fresh flowers sat on the mantle, and the fireplace crackled with a gentle, soothing blaze that no longer brought panic to my chest.
Marcus Vance was waiting for me in the library, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looked healthier now; the city had reinstated his detective pension with back pay and issued a formal public apology for his wrongful termination.
“Mail arrived from the correctional facility in Bedford Hills,” Marcus said, gesturing to a plain manila envelope sitting on the mahogany desk.
I set my purse down and picked up the envelope. Juliette’s handwriting was scrawled across the front in jagged, aggressive strokes.
“You don’t have to read it,” Marcus cautioned gently. “She’s locked away for a quarter of a century. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
“I’m not afraid of her words, Marcus,” I said.
I slid a silver letter opener through the seal and pulled out a single sheet of lined yellow paper.
Inside were only three sentences, written in trembling black ink:
*‘You think I acted alone, Caroline? You think a twenty-four-year-old girl planned an untraceable fire, bribed federal marshals, and bought off state coroners by herself? Check Mother’s real will in the Zurich safe-deposit box. Look at who actually ordered the locks on Willow Creek. He’s sitting closer to you than you think.’*
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I lowered the letter, my eyes darting across the dimly lit room toward Marcus.
At that exact second, the heavy library doors behind us clicked shut.
May you like
The brass deadbolt slid into place with a sharp, sickening sound.
And from the shadows behind the towering bookshelves, footsteps began to approach.
