PART 3 Inside was a single piece of folded paper. My hands shook as I unfolded it. My dear Cassie, If you are reading this, then I am no longer there to protect you myself. First, I want you to know something important: I was never blind. I saw everything. I stopped breathing for a moment. Everything? I continued reading. I saw the way Simon looked at you when he thought nobody was watching. I saw the way he changed after meeting Misty. I saw the way Jesse slowly became distant from you.
You always believed people showed their true hearts when life became difficult. But I learned something different. Some people show their true hearts when they believe they have already won. My eyes moved faster. My father knew. He knew about Simon. He knew about Misty. He knew about Jesse. I sat down on the old wooden bench beside the roses, the same bench where my father and I used to drink coffee every Sunday morning. I remembered his words from months earlier. “Cassie, sometimes the people closest to you are the ones who know exactly where to put the knife.” At the time, I thought he was talking about business. I never imagined he was talking about family.
The letter continued. I know you are wondering why I allowed Simon to continue visiting me after what he did. The answer is simple. I wanted to know the truth. When people think they are loved, they behave carefully. When people think they are about to inherit something, they reveal themselves. My fingers tightened around the paper. A cold feeling spread through me. My father wasn’t just leaving behind a will. He had been preparing. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made me quickly fold the letter.
Attorney Brenda stepped out moments later.
She was in her late fifties, with silver hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing. She had been my father’s attorney for almost twenty years.
The moment she saw my face, she knew something had happened.
“Cassandra,” she said softly. “What did you find?”
I handed her the envelope.
She looked at the handwriting and immediately became serious.
“Where was this?”
“Under the roses.”
Brenda closed her eyes briefly.
“Of course.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean, of course?”
She walked toward the garden bench and sat beside me.
“Your father asked me a strange question two months before he passed away.”
“What question?”
She looked at the white roses.
“He asked me if I believed a person could destroy themselves by talking too much.”
I frowned.
“And what did you say?”
“I told him yes.”
She looked at me.
“Then he smiled and said, ‘Good. Then I won’t have to destroy anyone. They’ll do it themselves.’”
A chill moved through my body.
“Brenda… what did my father know?”
She took a deep breath.
“More than you think.”
Before she could continue, my phone rang.
The name on the screen made my stomach drop.
Simon.
I stared at it.
Brenda noticed.
“Answer it.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes people reveal more when they believe they’re in control.”
I pressed accept.
“Hello, Simon.”
His voice came through immediately.
“Cassandra, we need to talk.”
His tone was different.
Not the angry voice he used during our divorce.
Not the fake charming voice he used when he wanted something.
This was the voice of someone who thought he had already won.
“About what?”
“About tomorrow.”
I stayed silent.
He continued.
“I heard Misty stopped by.”
I looked at Brenda.
“How did you hear that?”
A pause.
Too long.
Then:
“Cassandra, don’t make this difficult.”
I almost laughed.
Difficult?
After fifteen years of marriage?
After I found out my husband was sleeping with his assistant?
After he left me for her and told everyone I was “too emotional”?
Now I was making things difficult?
“Simon, this is my father’s house.”
“You mean your father’s estate.”
The exact same words Misty used.
My grip tightened.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Continue.”
He sighed.
“Look, Cassandra. I know you’re upset, but you need to be realistic. Your father was old. He wasn’t thinking clearly near the end.”
I froze.
The same argument.
The same phrase.
My father’s mental state.
Suddenly, I understood.
They weren’t guessing.
They were building a story.
A story where my father wasn’t competent enough to make decisions.
A story where his final wishes could be challenged.
“Who told you my father wasn’t thinking clearly?”
Silence.
Then:
“Jesse mentioned it.”
Of course.
My brother.
The same brother who had barely looked me in the eyes at my father’s funeral.
The same brother who suddenly started spending weekends with Simon.
“Simon.”
“What?”
“My father trusted you once.”
“I respected him.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You respected what you thought he could give you.”
His voice hardened.
“You always had a problem accepting reality, Cassandra.”
I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because suddenly, everything became clear.
They thought I was the weak one.
They thought because I stayed quiet during my divorce, I would stay quiet forever.
They were wrong.
“Simon?”
“What?”
“I hope you enjoy tomorrow.”
A pause.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should pay very close attention when Brenda reads the will.”
His breathing changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“You know something.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was fear.
I ended the call.
Brenda looked at me.
“He suspects.”
“Good.”
She smiled slightly.
“Your father would be proud.”
I looked down at the letter again.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
Brenda nodded.
“Yes.”
“How much more?”
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a small folder.
“Your father left instructions.”
My heart started racing.
“Instructions?”
“Yes.”
She placed the folder on the table.
“He specifically said this folder should only be opened after someone from Simon’s side tries to force you out of the house before the will reading.”
I stared at her.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew they would come here.”
“Yes.”
My father had predicted Misty’s visit.
Predicted Simon’s call.
Predicted everything.
I opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph.
My blood turned cold.
It was a picture of Simon.
And Misty.
But not recently.
This picture was taken years ago.
Before my divorce.
Before I knew anything.
They were standing together outside a hotel.
Holding hands.
On the back of the photograph, my father had written:
“The truth always leaves fingerprints.”
Underneath was a second document.
A bank record.
And a name.
Simon Walker.
I stared at the numbers.
Then I looked at Brenda.
“What is this?”
Her expression became serious.
“Something your father discovered six months before his diagnosis.”
“What?”
She leaned closer.
“Your father believed Simon wasn’t just cheating on you.”
I swallowed.
“Then what was he doing?”
Brenda looked directly into my eyes.
“He believed Simon was trying to take something from him.”
The garden suddenly felt colder.
I looked at the roses.
The roses Misty wanted to destroy.
The roses my father protected.
And for the first time, I understood.
Those roses were not just flowers.
They were a warning.
Because my father knew something they didn’t.
Tomorrow’s will reading wasn’t going to be about who inherited the house.
It was going to expose who had been lying all these years.
And Simon, Misty, and Jesse had no idea…
My father had already prepared their downfall.
I spent the entire night sitting in my father’s study.
The room still smelled like him.
Old leather books. Fresh coffee. The cedar wood shelves he built himself. The faint scent of the pipe he stopped smoking years ago but never had the heart to throw away.
Everything in that room carried a memory.
But that night, those memories felt different.
They weren’t just memories anymore.
They were evidence.
My father had known something was wrong.
And he had been quietly preparing for the day when the people around him showed their true colors.
I opened the folder Brenda gave me again.
The bank records.
The photograph.
The notes.
Every piece felt like a puzzle, and the more pieces I found, the uglier the picture became.
The first document was a transfer record.
A large amount of money had moved from one of my father’s investment accounts.
The recipient?
A company I had never heard of.
But the signature authorizing the transfer…
Was Simon’s.
I stared at the paper for a long time.
“No…”
I whispered it even though nobody was there.
Because even after everything Simon had done, part of me still couldn’t believe he would go that far.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years of marriage.
Fifteen years of believing I knew someone.
I remembered the early years.
Simon wasn’t always cruel.
That was the hardest part.
People like him were never monsters from the beginning.
They were charming.
They were supportive.
They knew exactly what version of themselves to show you.
When we first married, Simon would wake up early on weekends and make breakfast.
He would leave little notes around the house.
“Have a beautiful day, my love.”
“I’m lucky to have you.”
“One day we’ll build something together.”
And I believed him.
Because I wanted to believe him.
But somewhere along the way, the man who once held my hand started calculating what my hand could give him.
My father saw it before I did.
The next morning arrived faster than I wanted.
The day of the will reading.
At exactly nine o’clock, cars began arriving at the house.
I stood by the front window watching.
Simon arrived first.
Of course.
He stepped out wearing an expensive suit, looking like he was attending a business meeting instead of the reading of a dead man’s final wishes.
Misty followed.
Her outfit was completely inappropriate.
Designer clothes.
Huge sunglasses.
A smile that said she already owned the place.
Then came Jesse.
My younger brother.
The person who hurt me almost as much as Simon did.
He walked toward the house without looking at me through the window.
That hurt more than I expected.
Because no matter what Simon did…
Jesse was my family.
Or at least I thought he was.
Brenda arrived last.
She walked through the front door carrying a black leather briefcase.
Everyone gathered in my father’s study.
The same room where my father made business decisions for forty years.
The same room where he taught Jesse and me how to tell right from wrong.
Simon sat in my father’s chair.
I noticed.
So did Brenda.
But she said nothing.
Not yet.
Misty crossed her legs and looked around.
“I have to admit,” she said, “this house needs some updates.”
I didn’t answer.
She continued.
“The kitchen is old. The garden is outdated. Those roses especially.”
My eyes moved toward her.
“You really hate those roses.”
She smiled.
“They’re just plants, Cassandra.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“They’re not.”
For a moment, she looked uncomfortable.
But then she laughed.
“You always were sentimental.”
Before I could respond, Brenda opened her briefcase.
“Let’s begin.”
The room became silent.
She placed several documents on the table.
“Before I read Harrison Mitchell’s final will, I need to clarify something.”
Simon leaned forward.
“What?”
Brenda looked directly at him.
“Mr. Mitchell anticipated that certain individuals might question his mental capacity before and after his passing.”
The room froze.
I watched Simon’s face change.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Brenda continued.
“Therefore, Mr. Mitchell arranged for multiple medical evaluations during the final year of his life.”
She placed another document down.
“All doctors confirmed that Mr. Mitchell was mentally competent and fully aware of his decisions.”
Misty’s confident expression disappeared.
“That’s impossible.”
Brenda turned toward her.
“Why is it impossible, Mrs. Walker?”
Misty opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
She had made a mistake.
A big one.
Because nobody had mentioned her husband’s last name yet.
The room became silent.
I looked at her.
She realized too late.
Brenda noticed too.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Then Brenda continued.
“Mr. Mitchell also requested that any person who attempted to pressure Cassandra into leaving this property before the will reading would receive special consideration.”
Simon frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Brenda opened another envelope.
“It means your actions before today mattered.”
My heart started beating faster.
Simon’s face hardened.
“What actions?”
Brenda looked at me.
“Cassandra, did anyone contact you or attempt to force you to leave this house before today?”
I looked at Misty.
Then Simon.
Then Jesse.
The room was silent.
I remembered Misty standing among my roses.
“Start packing already.”
I remembered Simon’s call.
“You need to be realistic.”
I took a breath.
“Yes.”
Brenda nodded.
“Please explain.”
I told everything.
Every word.
Every threat.
Every insult.
I didn’t exaggerate.
I didn’t need to.
The truth was enough.
When I finished, Brenda looked at Simon.
“Is this correct?”
Simon immediately shook his head.
“She’s emotional. She’s twisting things.”
Brenda calmly pulled out her phone.
“Interesting.”
She tapped the screen.
“Because we have security footage.”
Simon stopped.
“What?”
My eyes widened.
Brenda looked at me.
“Your father installed cameras around the property after an incident last year.”
I remembered.
My father saying he wanted better security.
I thought he was just being cautious.
Apparently not.
Brenda turned the phone around.
The video played.
There was Misty.
Walking through the garden.
Standing in front of me.
Saying every single word.
“Start packing already, because as soon as they read the will tomorrow, this house will be ours.”
Nobody spoke.
The silence was painful.
Misty’s face turned pale.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow.
“It proves you attempted to intimidate the rightful resident of this property before the legal process was complete.”
Simon stood up.
“This is ridiculous.”
“No,” Brenda said calmly.
“This is exactly what Mr. Mitchell predicted.”
She reached into the briefcase again.
And removed one final envelope.
This one was sealed with my father’s handwriting.
Everyone saw the name written on it.
For Cassandra.
Brenda handed it to me.
“Your father instructed me to give this to you only after they revealed themselves.”
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
Inside was a short letter.
Only five sentences.
But those five sentences changed everything.
My dear Cassie,
If you are reading this, then they have already shown you who they are.
Do not feel betrayed. Feel grateful.
A mask falling is painful, but living with a lie is worse.
Now you are ready to hear the truth.
I looked up.
Everyone was watching me.
Simon.
Misty.
Jesse.
And for the first time since my father died…
I didn’t feel afraid.
Because I finally understood.
They came here expecting to take my home.
They thought my father was gone.
They thought I was alone.
But they forgot one thing.
My father spent his entire life building this house.
And he didn’t just build walls.
He built protection.
Brenda took out another document.
“Now,” she said,
“we will continue with the official reading of Harrison Mitchell’s final will.”
She looked around the room.
“And I should warn everyone…”
She paused.
“The inheritance is not the only thing Mr. Mitchell left behind.”
Simon’s expression changed.
“What else?”
Brenda looked at him.
“Consequences.”
And then she began to read.
PART 4
Brenda opened the will slowly.
Not because she was unsure.
But because she understood something everyone else in the room did not.
This was not just a legal document.
This was my father’s final conversation with the people who betrayed him.
The room became so quiet I could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner.
The same clock my father repaired every Christmas.
Simon sat forward, his fingers tapping impatiently against the armrest.
Misty looked annoyed, but I could see the nervousness behind her eyes.
Jesse avoided looking at me.
Brenda adjusted her glasses.
“Last Will and Testament of Harrison Edward Mitchell.”
She began reading.
“I, Harrison Edward Mitchell, being of sound mind and full understanding of my decisions, declare this to be my final will and testament.”
Simon smiled slightly.
Almost like he was waiting to hear his reward.
Then Brenda continued.
“First, I leave my personal belongings, including my books, watches, artwork, and private collections, to my daughter, Cassandra Mitchell.”
I felt my throat tighten.
Simple things.
Things that mattered.
Things that belonged to him.
Brenda continued.
“Second, I leave ownership of my residence, including the land, garden, and all structures located on the property, to my daughter, Cassandra.”
The room went silent.
Misty’s eyes widened.
“What?”
She said it before she could stop herself.
Brenda looked up.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Walker. Did you have a question?”
Misty quickly fixed her expression.
“No. I just… I assumed there would be a different arrangement.”
“You assumed incorrectly.”
The way Brenda said it made Misty uncomfortable.
Simon leaned forward.
“There must be something for me.”
Brenda looked down at the papers.
“There is.”
A small smile appeared on Simon’s face.
Finally.
He thought.
He was about to receive something.
Brenda continued.
“Mr. Mitchell acknowledged your years of friendship and business association.”
Simon relaxed.
“Exactly.”
Brenda looked at him.
“However, he also stated that generosity should never reward dishonesty.”
The smile disappeared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you will receive exactly what Mr. Mitchell decided you earned.”
Brenda turned the page.
“To Simon Walker, I leave…”
She paused.
“…one dollar.”
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Then Misty laughed.
A short, uncomfortable laugh.
“One dollar?”
Simon’s face turned red.
“This is a joke.”
“No,” Brenda replied.
“It is a legally valid inheritance.”
Simon stood up.
“You’re telling me Harrison left me one dollar after everything I did for him?”
Brenda looked at him calmly.
“According to Mr. Mitchell’s written statement, he believed one dollar was a symbolic reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
She picked up another paper.
And read:
“Simon, you spent many years measuring relationships by what they could provide you. Consider this dollar a reflection of the value you placed on loyalty.”
The room went cold.
I looked at Simon.
For the first time in years, I saw something I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Humiliation.
But Brenda wasn’t finished.
“There is also an additional condition.”
Simon stared at her.
“What condition?”
Brenda placed another document on the table.
“Before receiving even that one dollar, you must acknowledge responsibility for certain financial matters involving Harrison Mitchell’s accounts.”
The color drained from Simon’s face.
“What financial matters?”
Brenda looked at him.
“You know exactly what matters.”
My heart started racing.
The bank records.
The transfer.
The missing money.
Simon looked at Jesse.
And that small movement told me everything.
Jesse noticed.
“Why are you looking at me?”
Simon didn’t answer.
Brenda opened another folder.
“Mr. Mitchell discovered unauthorized transfers from his investment accounts.”
The room exploded.
Misty immediately turned toward Simon.
“What is she talking about?”
Simon ignored her.
“That’s impossible.”
Brenda slid the documents across the table.
“These transfers were made through accounts connected to a consulting company.”
Simon looked at the papers.
Then his face changed.
Because he recognized them.
“You cannot prove I did anything.”
Brenda nodded.
“Actually, we can.”
She reached into her briefcase.
And pulled out a small flash drive.
My father’s handwriting was on the label.
Evidence.
I felt a strange mixture of sadness and pride.
Even in his final months, my father was still fighting.
Still protecting what he built.
Brenda continued.
“Mr. Mitchell recorded several conversations before his death.”
Simon froze.
“Recorded?”
“Yes.”
Misty looked terrified now.
“Simon…”
He ignored her.
“Those recordings are illegal.”
Brenda shook her head.
“No. Mr. Mitchell recorded conversations where he was a participant. They are completely admissible.”
Simon’s confidence disappeared.
I looked at Jesse.
He finally looked back at me.
His eyes were filled with guilt.
And I knew there was more.
Something bigger.
Something he had been hiding.
Brenda turned another page.
“Now, regarding Jesse Mitchell.”
My brother immediately stiffened.
“I knew it.”
He whispered.
I stared at him.
“Jesse…”
He looked away.
Brenda continued.
“Mr. Mitchell had concerns regarding his son’s recent behavior.”
Jesse swallowed.
“I was under pressure.”
Nobody answered.
Brenda looked at him.
“Your father wrote the following.”
She began reading.
“Jesse, my son. I love you. But love does not mean pretending wrong is right.”
Jesse closed his eyes.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
For the first time, he looked like the little brother I remembered.
The little boy who used to follow me around the garden.
The boy who cried when our dog died.
The boy who promised me:
“I’ll always protect you, Cassie.”
What happened to him?
Brenda continued.
“You allowed people to use your pain, your anger, and your jealousy against your own family.”
Jesse covered his face.
Misty looked uncomfortable.
Simon looked angry.
Because suddenly, Jesse was no longer useful.
He was becoming a witness.
Brenda placed the final pages down.
“There is one final section.”
She looked at me.
“This part was written personally for Cassandra.”
My heart stopped.
She handed me the document.
I recognized my father’s handwriting immediately.
My dear Cassie,
I know you spent years wondering why I stayed quiet.
Why I didn’t expose people sooner.
The answer is because I wanted you to see the truth yourself.
A father can protect his daughter from danger.
But he cannot protect her from every disappointment.
Sometimes the greatest gift I can give you is the strength to stand when I am no longer beside you.
My vision became blurry.
I wiped my eyes quickly.
But then I saw the next line.
And my entire body froze.
There is one more person who knows the truth.
Ask Jesse what happened the night before my diagnosis.
I slowly looked at my brother.
Everyone turned toward him.
Jesse’s face went pale.
Simon immediately stood.
“Don’t answer that.”
The room became silent.
Because those words revealed something.
Something Simon didn’t want us to know.
Brenda looked at him.
“Interesting.”
Simon realized his mistake.
Too late.
I stared at Jesse.
“What happened that night?”
He didn’t speak.
“Jesse.”
His lips trembled.
Then finally…
He whispered:
“I found out why Dad got sick.”
The room stopped breathing.
My heart pounded.
“What are you talking about?”
Jesse looked at Simon.
Then back at me.
And the next words shattered everything I believed.
“Dad wasn’t just betrayed by Simon…”
He swallowed.
“He was betrayed because of me.”
The room felt like it had lost all oxygen.
I stared at Jesse.
My younger brother.
The person I had spent my entire life protecting.
The person my father loved more than anything.
And now he was telling me he had something to do with my father’s suffering.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
Jesse looked down at the floor.
His hands were shaking.
“I should have told you months ago.”
Simon immediately stepped forward.
“Jesse, don’t do this.”
My eyes snapped toward Simon.
There it was again.
That tone.
That same controlling voice.
The voice of someone who believed he could still manipulate everyone.
“Don’t do what?” I asked.
Simon looked at me.
“Cassandra, your brother is emotional. He’s grieving. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
But Jesse suddenly shouted:
“No!”
Everyone froze.
Jesse had never raised his voice like that before.
Not even when we were children.
He looked directly at Simon.
“You don’t get to control this anymore.”
Simon’s expression changed.
A small crack appeared in his confidence.
Jesse wiped his face.
“I’ve spent months telling myself that I was protecting the family.”
He laughed bitterly.
“But I wasn’t protecting anyone. I was protecting myself.”
I stepped closer.
“Jesse, please tell me what happened.”
He looked at me.
And the sadness in his eyes hurt more than anger would have.
“Three days before Dad was diagnosed, he called me.”
I listened carefully.
“He asked me to meet him at his office. He said he needed to talk about something important.”
Jesse took a deep breath.
“When I got there, Simon was already inside.”
I looked at Simon.
He said nothing.
“He told me Dad was becoming paranoid. He said Dad was changing. That he didn’t trust anyone anymore.”
Jesse looked ashamed.
“And I believed him.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
Jesse looked away.
“Because I was angry.”
The words hung in the room.
“Angry at Dad?”
He nodded.
“I thought Dad always chose you over me.”
I felt like someone had punched me.
“Jesse…”
“I know it sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
His voice cracked.
“You were the successful one. You stayed close to him. You understood business. You helped him with everything.”
He looked at the garden through the window.
“And I felt like I was just the disappointing son.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Because I never knew.
I never knew he felt that way.
Jesse continued.
“Simon knew.”
My eyes moved toward him.
“He knew exactly what to say.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“He told me Dad was planning to remove me from his will.”
Misty suddenly looked at Simon.
“You told him that?”
Simon remained silent.
Jesse laughed sadly.
“I was stupid enough to believe it.”
Brenda crossed her arms.
“And what did you do after believing that?”
Jesse closed his eyes.
“I gave Simon information.”
The room went quiet.
“What information?”
Jesse looked at me.
“Dad’s account information.”
My heart dropped.
“You gave him access?”
“Not exactly.”
Jesse shook his head.
“I didn’t know what he was planning.”
Simon finally spoke.
“Because he didn’t.”
Everyone looked at him.
He tried to regain control.
“Jesse made mistakes, but he’s exaggerating because he’s scared.”
Brenda calmly reached into her folder.
“No, Mr. Walker.”
She placed another document on the table.
“We have evidence.”
Simon’s face changed.
Again.
That tiny moment.
That moment when someone realizes they have lost control.
Brenda continued.
“Jesse contacted Mr. Mitchell two days after providing Simon with the information.”
Jesse nodded.
“I realized something was wrong.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He swallowed.
“Dad showed me the transfers.”
My eyes widened.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
Jesse nodded.
“He knew Simon was moving money.”
Simon’s jaw tightened.
“He was confused.”
“No,” Jesse said.
“He wasn’t.”
The room went silent.
Jesse continued.
“Dad asked me why I helped Simon.”
I felt tears forming.
“What did he say?”
Jesse looked at me.
“He said…”
His voice broke.
“He said, ‘The money doesn’t hurt me, Jesse. The betrayal does.’”
I closed my eyes.
Because that sounded exactly like my father.
He never cared about losing money.
He cared about losing trust.
Jesse continued.
“I begged him to forgive me.”
A tear fell down his face.
“He said he already did.”
I looked at him.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
His answer came quietly.
“Because Simon threatened me.”
Everyone turned.
Brenda’s expression sharpened.
“What kind of threat?”
Jesse looked terrified.
“He said if I told you, he would release information that would destroy me.”
“What information?”
Jesse looked at Simon.
Then at me.
“Things Simon helped me hide.”
My heart sank.
“Jesse…”
“I had debt.”
He whispered.
“Lots of it.”
Misty rolled her eyes.
“You’re kidding.”
Jesse looked at her.
“You knew.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“You knew about my debts.”
Simon looked uncomfortable.
Suddenly, everything was connecting.
They weren’t just random people.
They were connected by secrets.
By fear.
By manipulation.
Brenda stepped forward.
“Mr. Mitchell knew about Jesse’s debt.”
I looked at her.
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
She looked at me softly.
“Because he wanted to give Jesse a chance to fix his mistakes.”
My eyes burned.
That was my father.
Even when people hurt him…
He still tried to save them.
Brenda continued.
“But Mr. Mitchell discovered something much more serious.”
She opened another envelope.
Inside was a printed email.
The sender’s name made my stomach turn.
Misty Walker.
The room froze.
Simon looked at Misty.
