Chapter 5 - The Final Envelope
At the very bottom of the briefcase, beneath the legal binders and financial ledgers, sat a single, heavy cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax bearing the Bennett family crest.
Across the front, written in Mark’s steady, looping script, were three words: To My Wife.
My fingers hovered over the paper. The house was quiet; Clara had taken Sophie upstairs to tuck her into bed, and Noah was standing quietly by the window, watching the rain beat against the glass.
I broke the wax seal and slid out a folded sheet of heavy linen paper.
My dearest Laura,
If you are reading this, it means my father played his final card, and I failed to stop him in time. I am so sorry I left you to face them alone.
For years, I let them walk over us because I wanted to believe blood meant loyalty. I was wrong. My parents don't see people; they see leverage. But they underestimated you, Laura. They always have.
Inside this briefcase is every weapon you need to dismantle their empire. Don't be afraid of them. Use the codicil. Call Marcus Vance—the card is in the front pocket, he’s an honest lawyer who owes me a debt from law school. Take back our home. Protect our children.
I loved you from the moment I met you at the bookstore, and I love you now, even from the other side of the dark.
Forever yours,
Mark
A single tear dropped onto the paper, blurring the ink near his signature. I pressed the letter against my chest, closing my eyes as the wave of grief washed over me—not just for the husband I had lost, but for the man who had fought for us until his very last breath.
Noah walked over, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. He looked down at the letter, then at the open briefcase filled with the evidence that could destroy his grandfather’s empire.
“What do we do first, Mom?” Noah asked quietly.
May you like
I looked at my son, seeing so much of Mark in the line of his jaw and the steadiness of his gaze. I picked up Mark’s phone from the table—the one Richard thought he had confiscated—and dialed the number for Marcus Vance.
“We call the lawyer,” I said. “And tomorrow morning, we go home.”
