paper.
“Because there were two letters inside.”
Adrian felt his throat tighten.
“One for me?”
She nodded.
“And the other?”
“For the person who brought the key.”
“Which was you.”
“Yes.”
“What did yours say?”
Marissa hesitated.
“I don’t think I should tell you.”
Adrian almost protested.
Then stopped.
After everything he had already done, he had no right to demand it.
“All right.”
Marissa seemed surprised.
He nodded toward the paper in her hand.
“Is that mine?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“A copy of the first page.”
“Why do you have a copy?”
“Because Arthur thought I should understand why your grandfather connected you to Daniel.”
Adrian’s pulse quickened.
“May I see it?”
Marissa looked at him for a long time.
Then handed him the paper.
The handwriting was immediately recognizable.
Edmund Whitmore’s.
Age had made the lines slightly uneven, but Adrian knew the deliberate slant of every letter.
