“You never told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Why would I know?”
“Because after she died, your father’s attorney emptied the
safe.”
Nathan’s expression changed.
“My father was already dead.”
Mrs. Bennett went pale.
Then corrected herself.
“Your uncle.”
Nathan went still.
“Which uncle?”
“Raymond Coleman.”
I had heard that name only once.
Nathan’s father’s younger brother.
Family attorney.
Retired.
Still alive.
Mrs. Bennett continued:
“He took the papers.”
“Why?”
“He said Catherine had asked him to hold anything related to the boys’ health separately from the estate.”
Nathan looked stunned.
“Catherine expected something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Raymond now?”
“Rhode Island.”
Nathan reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
Looked at me.
Facts first.
I nodded.
He called calmly.
“Uncle Raymond?”
A pause.
“It’s Nathan.”
Another.
“I need to ask you about Catherine’s medical papers.”
Long silence.
Then Nathan’s face changed.
“What do you mean, you’ve been waiting for me to ask?”
He listened.
Then looked at all of us.
Raymond apparently still had the documents.
Every page.
Every note.
And one sealed letter from Catherine.
Addressed to Nathan.
Never opened.
Because Raymond had promised her he would only deliver it if Nathan asked specifically whether the house itself could be making the boys sick.
For two years, Nathan had asked every medical question imaginable.
Except that one.
-END OF PART 2, –PRESS NEX PART IN BOTTOM OF PAGE TO READ NEXT PART
PART 3
Victoria Duca arrived from London forty-eight hours later.
No private jet drama.
No line of assistants.
One black suitcase.
One wool coat.
