Chapter 13
“Keep it tonight.”
“I have heat.”
“So do I.”
He took it.
“Thank you for coming.”
The words surprised me.
His expression softened.
“I’m sorry I came the way I did.”
“You do have a flair for entrances.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
He turned toward the door.
“Alexander.”
He looked back.
“Why today?”
His hand tightened around the silver handle of his cane.
“What do you mean?”
“Your investigator found out about the box three weeks ago. My divorce has been going on for months. Why come today?”
He hesitated.
One second.
Maybe two.
Too long.
“You knew something would happen at the courthouse.”
“I knew Richard’s attorney had requested immediate enforcement of the property provisions.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Alexander stared at me.
Then he reached into his pocket and removed his phone.
He opened a photograph and handed it over.
It showed a sheet of paper on a dark wooden desk.
A handwritten note.
My mother’s handwriting again.
The photograph was blurry near the edges, as if taken hurriedly.
At the top was a date.
Two days before her death.
My heart thudded.
I read the message.
If anything happens to me, find Alexander.
He knows about the key.
He does not know what it opens.
Do not tell Charles.
I looked up.
“Who is Charles?”
Alexander did not answer immediately.
Then he said:
“My father.”
The apartment seemed to shrink.
“Where did you get this photo?”
“It arrived anonymously yesterday.”
“From Richard?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was the original in the storage box?”
“Possibly.”
“Why would someone send it to you?”
“I don’t know.”
I handed the phone back.
“That’s three mysteries in one answer.”
“Yes.”
He looked tired.
Not billionaire tired.
Not executive tired.
Just human tired.
“Clara, your mother trusted me with something important. I failed to understand how important. I won’t ask you to trust me because of that.”
“Good.”
“But I would like the chance to earn it.”
I studied him.
There was something almost painful in his expression.
For the first time, I wondered whether finding me had reopened an old wound for him too.
“Good night, Alexander.”
“Good night, Clara.”
He opened the door.
Then paused.
“Your mother would have been very proud of you.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes met mine.
“I knew her.”
Then he left.
Chapter 3: The box my mother left behind
I slept for eleven hours.