I couldn’t move.
“People who are still looking for it?”
Daniel nodded.
“How much money are we talking about?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You said millions.”
“More than that.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
He looked down at his hands.
“Close to twelve million dollars.”
The number seemed impossible.
My husband had never lived like a wealthy man.
We had owned a comfortable home.
We took modest vacations.
He drove the same truck for almost fifteen years.
Twelve million dollars made no sense.
“Where did it go?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Arthur knows.”
“And my husband?”
“He kept records.”
“Where?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I think you have them.”
I frowned.
“I don’t have anything.”
“You do.”
“What?”
“Something Dad gave you before he died.”
I searched my memory.
Then I remembered.
A small wooden box.
My husband had given it to me three days before he died.
He told me never to throw it away.
I had kept it in the attic for twenty years.
I had never opened it.
“What’s inside?” I asked.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“That’s what Arthur is looking for.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Then why tell me now?”
Daniel looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“Because I realized something.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t need me anymore.”
I stared at him.
“He was going to get rid of me.”
The room went silent.
“That’s why you were attacked?”
Daniel nodded.
“I found out what Arthur had been doing. I threatened to go to the police.”
“And he attacked you.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then we need to find that box.”
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
“Mom.”
I looked back.
“Don’t go home.”
“Why?”
“Because if Arthur knows about the box, he’ll be watching your house.”
I pulled my hand away.
“I have to get it.”
“No.”
“It belongs to me.”
“And that’s exactly why you’re in danger.”
I walked toward the door.
Daniel’s voice followed me.
“Mom, please.”
I stopped.
Then I turned around.
“I spent my whole life protecting this family.”
My voice shook.
“And every time someone hurt me, I forgave them.”
I looked directly at him.
“I’m not doing that anymore.”
Outside the room, Margaret was waiting.
She immediately saw my expression.
“What happened?”
“I need to go home.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“I have something in my attic.”
“What?”
“A box my husband left me.”
Her expression changed.
“What kind of box?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we don’t go there alone.”
She made several calls.
Within an hour, officers were escorting us back to my house.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
I entered through the front door.
Everything looked exactly as I’d left it.
I climbed the stairs.
Then the attic.
Dust covered everything.
Old photographs.
Christmas decorations.
My husband’s tools.
And finally, beneath an old blanket, I found it.
The wooden box.
I carried it downstairs.
Margaret examined it.
“There isn’t a lock.”
I opened the lid.
Inside was a bundle of letters.
A small USB drive.
And one photograph.
I picked up the photograph.
My husband was standing beside Arthur.
But there was someone else in the picture.
A woman.
I didn’t recognize her.
Margaret turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
If anything happens to me, find her.
Underneath was a name.
Eleanor Bell.
Margaret stared at it.
“Bell?”
I nodded.
“Arthur’s wife?”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“My husband never mentioned her.”
Margaret picked up one of the letters.
Then she suddenly stopped.
“What?”
She turned the envelope over.
The sender’s name was printed on the back.
Eleanor Bell.
And the date was from only six months ago.
I felt a chill run through me.
“She’s alive.”
Margaret nodded.
“And she has been trying to contact you.”
I opened the letter.
The first sentence made my hands go cold.
Mrs. Carter, your husband didn’t die naturally.
I looked at Margaret.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the man I had mourned for twenty years had actually been murdered.
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