“I came back because Abigail found out Margaret kept copies.”
“Copies of what?”
He placed the envelope in front of me.
Across the front, in my father’s handwriting, were four words.
FOR SAMUEL — WHEN READY.
My hands went cold.
Abigail suddenly lunged toward the table.
Martin blocked her.
“Don’t open that!” she screamed.
I stared at her.
For the first time since I returned home, there was no performance left.
No loving wife.
No worried caregiver.
No calm explanation.
Only terror.
“Why?” I asked.
She shook her head violently.
“Samuel, please.”
“Why shouldn’t I open it?”
“Because your mother has been lying to you your entire life.”
Mom whispered, “Abigail, don’t.”
David looked at me.
“She’s right about one thing.”
I held the envelope.
“Which thing?”
He took a breath.
“The eighty thousand dollars was never the real target.”
I looked at Abigail.
Then at Mom.
