“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. Everyone present.”
Then his expression softened.
“He also asked me to tell you something.”
I swallowed.
“What?”
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“Trust him.”
The next morning, Marlene and her brothers were already seated in the lawyer’s office.
“How generous of you to come,” Marlene said.
“When do you plan to leave our father’s house?”
I said nothing.
A small wooden box sat on the desk.
The lawyer pushed it toward me.
“He wanted you to receive this first.”
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
At the charity dinner.
Holding a tray.
Laughing.
I didn’t even know anyone had taken it.
Beneath it sat a folded letter.
Marlene scoffed.
“There’s your souvenir.”
I unfolded the letter.
It was written in Russell’s careful handwriting.
My eyes blurred immediately.
“What does it say?”
