Chapter 3 - The Last Christmas LetterI could barely breathe.
My father had written those words.
Not years before he died.
Not in some forgotten diary.
The day before.
Richard stood beside me while I read the rest of the page.
The handwriting was rushed.
Uneven.
As if he had been writing while afraid.
Richard,
If you're reading this, something went wrong.
Margaret knows about the account.
She cannot have access to the house.
Emily must inherit it.
Don't let them convince her otherwise.
My hands shook.
“Who are ‘they’?”
Richard sat down.
“Thomas never told me everything.”
“Then what did he tell you?”
“That Margaret had been moving money from a company account into a private account.”
“Why would my father know?”
“Because Thomas was auditing one of our joint investments.”
Daniel looked furious.
“You never told me any of this.”
“You were twelve.”
“You knew Mom was stealing?”
“I suspected.”
Margaret's voice cut through the room.
“He was obsessed with numbers. He misunderstood everything.”
Richard looked at her.
“He understood exactly enough.”
I turned another page.
There was something else.
A second note.
This one was addressed to a lawyer.
The name was unfamiliar.
“Who is Evelyn Hart?”
Richard's expression changed.
“Our family attorney.”
“Was?”
“She died seven years ago.”
I looked down.
There was a sentence underneath her name.
Contact Evelyn if Richard cannot protect Emily.
My head spun.
Why would my father leave instructions involving people he believed might still be alive twenty-seven years later?
And why had everyone kept this from me?
I stood.
“I want the truth.”
Margaret laughed bitterly.
“You think these papers mean you suddenly understand everything?”
“No.”
I looked directly at her.
“But I know you lied.”
She stepped toward me.
“You don't belong here.”
Richard slammed his hand on the table.
“Enough.”
Margaret stopped.
Richard's voice dropped.
“This is her house.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Emily, I didn't know.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I remembered his words after the slap.
She was teaching you how to be a better wife.
I remembered every dinner where Margaret had insulted me.
Every time Daniel had asked me to apologize.
Every time he had said, “She's just old-fashioned.”
I looked at him.
“You didn't know about the house.”
“No.”
“But you knew your mother hated me.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And you still let her treat me like this.”
“I thought…”
“You thought keeping peace mattered more than protecting me.”
He had no answer.
Richard closed the envelope.
“There is another reason I asked Emily to stay.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He reached into his jacket pocket.
This time, he removed a small brass key.
He placed it in my palm.
“This opens a safe.”
“Where?”
“In your father's old office.”
My throat tightened.
“I thought that room was destroyed.”
“So did Margaret.”
Margaret went completely still.
I noticed.
Richard noticed too.
Daniel turned toward his mother.
“You know about the office?”
“No.”
She answered too quickly.
Richard looked at me.
“Tomorrow morning, we go there.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“You cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because that room is dangerous.”
I frowned.
“Dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Richard's eyes narrowed.
“What did you put in there?”
Margaret's face lost all color.
“I didn't put anything.”
Richard turned to me.
“Then we have our answer.”
I slipped the key into my pocket.
“I'll go tonight.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever is in that room, Margaret is afraid of it.”
Daniel looked at his mother.
For the first time, he seemed to truly see her.
Not as his perfect mother.
Not as the woman who raised him.
But as someone who had been hiding something.
Margaret whispered, “You don't understand.”
I stepped toward her.
“Then explain it.”
She looked at me.
Her lips trembled.
Then she said something that made every hair on my arms rise.
“Your father didn't die because of the money.”
I froze.
“Then why did he die?”
She stared at me.
“Because he found out who was betraying him.”
“Who?”
Margaret's eyes moved toward Richard.
And Richard suddenly reached for the envelope.
Too late.
Margaret grabbed the remaining papers and threw them into the fireplace.
I screamed.
Richard lunged forward.
But the papers caught fire instantly.
One sheet floated through the flames before disappearing.
And I saw one final name.
Not Margaret.
Not Richard.
May you like
Not Thomas.
Daniel Collins.
