Chapter 10 - THE LETTERS
We left Rebecca's office in silence.
The city moved around us like nothing had happened.
Buses stopped.
People crossed streets.
Someone argued into a phone outside a coffee shop.
Life continued with insulting normality.
Emily and I sat in the car for almost five minutes before either of us moved.
"Letters," she finally said.
"Yeah."
"Do you think Teresa kept them?"
"No idea."
"Brittany might know."
I looked at her.
"I am not calling Brittany."
"I didn't say call."
"Good."
"I said she might know."
I started the car.
"That's somehow worse."
When we got home, Sarah handed Noah back to Emily and studied our faces.
"Bad?"
"Complicated," Emily said.
"That's adult code for bad."
I almost smiled.
Sarah left after making us promise to call if we needed anything.
Ten minutes later, Kayla texted.
Brittany is losing it.
I stared at the screen.
Why?
Because some woman from the bank commented on Mom's post.
I typed.
What is Brittany afraid of?
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
The box.
I felt my pulse jump.
What box?
Dad's bank box.
I stood.
Emily saw my face.
"What?"
I showed her.
Kayla sent another message.
Brittany took papers from it.
I typed so fast I hit the wrong letters twice.
What papers?
I don't know.
Then a photograph appeared.
It was old.
Grainy.
Taken in Mom's kitchen years earlier.
Brittany stood beside a stack of documents spread across the table.
She looked younger.
Maybe twenty-two.
In front of her was a white envelope.
My name was written across it in Dad's handwriting.
ETHAN.
I zoomed in.
My chest tightened.
"That's Dad's writing."
Emily touched my arm.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I had seen it on birthday cards.
Tool labels.
Notes stuck to the refrigerator.
Blocky capital letters.
Heavy pressure.
No question.
I called Kayla.
"Where did you get this photo?"
"My old phone backup."
"When was it taken?"
"After Dad died."
"How long after?"
"Maybe two weeks."
"What was in the envelope?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ever see it again?"
Silence.
"Kayla."
"Mom burned some papers."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"In the backyard fire pit."
"When?"
"That summer."
"What papers?"
"I don't know."
"Stop saying that."
"I really don't!"
Her voice cracked.
"She told me it was old financial stuff."
I closed my eyes.
There might be nothing left.
Dad's letters.
Whatever explanation he had tried to leave me.
Gone in a fire pit because Mom decided I did not get to hear him.
Then Kayla said, "Brittany kept one."
My eyes opened.
"One what?"
"A letter."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it in her room."
"When?"
"Years ago."
"Why would she keep it?"
"I don't know."
"What did it say?"
"I only saw part of it."
"What part?"
Kayla hesitated.
"Something about Mom and money."
I gripped the phone.
"Exact words."
"I don't remember exact words."
"Try."
A long pause.
Then Kayla said, "Dad wrote, 'Ethan, if your mother tells you there was nothing left, do not believe her.'"
I sat down.
Emily covered her mouth.
The room went silent.
Dad had known.
Not guessed.
Known.
He had expected Mom to tell me there was nothing.
He had expected her to hide something.
"Where is the letter now?"
"Brittany might still have it."
"Might?"
"She keeps old stuff in a plastic storage bin under her bed."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course she does."
"Ethan, don't go there."
I looked at Emily.
She had heard.
"I'm not."
And for once, I meant it.
I sent everything to Rebecca.
She replied:
Do not attempt to retrieve property from Brittany's home. We can request preservation and production through legal process if needed.
I hated legal process.
It moved at the speed of a glacier while my nervous system was moving at the speed of a fire alarm.
But I listened.
That evening, something unexpected happened.
Lily called.
Not Kayla.
Lily.
The sister who had rolled her eyes while Emily cleaned.
The sister who had said Emily barely did anything.
I stared at her name until the call almost ended.
Then I answered.
"What?"
She was crying.
"Can I come over?"
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I have something."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"What?"
"A letter."
I stopped.
Emily looked up.
"Whose letter?"
"Dad's."
My heart hammered.
"How did you get it?"
"Brittany gave it to me last year."
"Why?"
"She was moving apartments and didn't want Mom to find it."
"Why didn't she want Mom to find it?"
Lily sobbed.
"Because Mom thought she burned all of them."
I stood.
"Do not come here."
"But—"
"Take it to Rebecca Sloan's office."
"Tonight?"
"Now."
"Ethan—"
"If that letter exists, it does not come through my front door in your purse."
I was learning.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But learning.
Rebecca agreed to meet Lily at her office.
An hour later, she called me.
"The letter appears genuine."
I sat at the kitchen table.
Emily sat beside me.
"Read it."
Rebecca hesitated.
"Are you sure you don't want to come in tomorrow?"
"Read it."
Paper moved on the other end of the call.
Then Rebecca began.
"Ethan, if you're reading this, it means I was right to be worried."
My eyes closed.
Dad's voice filled my memory.
Low.
Slow.
Never using ten words when five would do.
Rebecca continued.
"I have spent too much of my life fixing problems by paying for them and calling that peace."
My throat tightened.
"I taught you to do the same."
Emily took my hand.
"That was my failure, not your duty."
I stopped breathing for a second.
Rebecca's voice softened.
"Your mother loves in a way that becomes possession when she is afraid."
Tears filled my eyes.
"She will tell herself that controlling you is protecting the family."
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
"Do not spend your life proving your love by emptying yourself."
Emily began crying beside me.
Rebecca continued.
"The account at First Illinois is yours."
"It is not repayment for being my son."
"It is not an emergency fund for your sisters."
"It is for the home you build when I am gone."
My shoulders shook.
For the first time since Dad died, I cried without trying to stop.
Rebecca waited.
Then read the final lines.
"If you marry, choose a woman who tells you the truth even when you don't want to hear it."
Emily let out a broken laugh through her tears.
"And when you have children, teach them that love is not a debt."
I lowered my head.
The last sentence was short.
"Be kinder than I was, and stronger where I was weak."
Rebecca stopped.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
Finally, I asked, "Is there more?"
"One paragraph."
"Read it."
Her tone changed.
"This part concerns Teresa specifically."
I wiped my face.
"Go ahead."
"If your mother claims I gave her authority to change the account after I became ill, that is false."
My entire body went still.
"I have revoked the old financial power of attorney and executed a new limited document that does not permit beneficiary changes."
Rebecca stopped reading.
I stared at the wall.
"There was a revocation."
"According to the letter, yes."
"Did the bank have it?"
"We don't know."
"Where would Dad keep it?"
Rebecca read the next sentence.
"A copy is in the safe-deposit box, and another is with my attorney, Samuel Price."
I looked at Emily.
"Samuel Price."
She repeated the name.
Rebecca said, "I already searched."
"And?"
"He's alive."
My heart jumped.
"Where?"
"Retired in Wisconsin."
"Can we contact him?"
"I did."
I stared at the phone.
"You did?"
"His assistant returned my call ten minutes ago."
"What did he say?"
Rebecca took a breath.
"Samuel Price still has a file labeled David Carter."
I stopped moving.
May you like
"And he says your father gave him instructions never to release it to Teresa."
