Chapter 2: The Envelope at the Table
Ethan looked at me once, then lifted the navy lid.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Not here.”
Inside lay a silver key tied with a faded blue ribbon and a folded card in Jack’s handwriting.
Ethan’s face lost its color.
“What does this key open?”
Brooke stepped closer.
“Let me see.”
“You didn’t want the box a minute ago,” Ethan said.
“I didn’t know what was inside.”
“That was the point.”
I reached for it again.
“Your father wanted you both to have this when the time was right.
Tonight proved it isn’t.”
Brooke’s eyes locked on the tiny address engraved beneath the key.
Her irritation vanished.
“Wait,” she said.
“Is that the house on Harbor Ridge?”
One of her clients turned sharply.
“The waterfront estate?”
The room went silent.
Ethan unfolded Jack’s card, but before he could read it, Brooke grabbed his wrist.
“You can’t take this away because of one bad evening.”
I stared at her.
“You still think this is about one evening?”
Then a man at the far end of the table stood up.
I recognized him as the attorney who had handled Jack’s affairs.
“Ethan,” he said carefully, “before you read that card, you need to know what Brooke asked me to do three weeks ago.”
Brooke froze.
“What is he talking about?” Ethan demanded.
The attorney reached into his jacket and placed a sealed envelope beside the navy box.
Brooke’s voice shook.
“Don’t open that.”
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What had Brooke secretly asked the attorney to do—and why was she terrified of that envelope?
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