Tears filled my eyes.
“How could you?”
Dr. Underhill led all of us out of the gym and into the school library.
Sasha slipped in behind us before anyone could stop her.
The door shut on the music that had started again, and on a hundred phones filming through the glass.
Under the fluorescent lights, Jonathan finally unbuttoned his jacket.
He pulled out a thick blue folder, bent from being carried against his ribs all night.
His hands were shaking.
“Six weeks ago,” he said, “I was looking for the spare key to our lake house in my dad’s wall safe.”
“I found this instead.”
He laid it on the table.
The label on the front read: TALBOT, C. — TRUST (ORIGINAL).
My father’s name.
“Your dad invented a roof anchor clip,” Jonathan said. “A little steel hook that keeps roofers from falling. He sold the patent in 2008 for two point three million dollars.”
