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And again.
Grace—my sister—had been taking money meant for my children. Liam had uncovered it while helping with taxes. There were documents, proof, records from years back when our mother passed away. Grace had insisted on handling everything. I had trusted her.
Then I saw the next line.
“I didn’t tell you until I had proof. I knew what accusing your sister would do to you.”
My hands started shaking.
There were photos of Grace meeting Ryan—her ex-husband—behind Liam’s office. She had told me he was gone for good. That was a lie. He had returned desperate, in debt, and she had been secretly helping him with money that wasn’t hers.
Then came the line that made everything go cold.
A week before the crash, someone had left a message for Liam: “Drop it. Think of your wife.”
I stared at it, unable to move.
At the bottom, Liam had written one final instruction.
“If Mark gives you this, go to the storage unit. Toolbox. Underside. Don’t tell Grace.”
I went home in a daze and saw Grace in the kitchen, smiling, making pancakes with my children. For a moment, I just stood there watching her—wondering how long she had been pretending.
Then I smiled back.
“Who wants to go out for lunch?”
I took the kids, dropped them at a neighbor’s house, then went straight to the bank. Liam had frozen the children’s account before he died—no withdrawals without me. That’s when I understood. Grace hadn’t just been helping me.
She had been waiting.
From the bank, I drove to the storage unit. Exactly where Liam said, taped under an old toolbox, I found a flash drive, another envelope… and a voice recorder.
I pressed play.
Liam’s voice came through calm but firm.
“You have one week to tell Emily yourself.”
Grace was crying.
“I said I’d fix it.”