Clear.
Usually bullet-pointed.
“What lies beneath the ridge,” I repeated.
Phoebe spoke.
“Could refer to land rights.”
“Mineral rights?”
“Possibly.”
Evelyn looked toward the mountains beyond the windows.
“Under the house?”
“Not literally,” Phoebe said.
“Maybe literally.”
“Evelyn.”
“I’m just saying.”
Despite everything, I felt a reluctant laugh escape.
The sound surprised all three of us.
Maybe because it was the first normal sound in the room.
I pressed a hand over my incision.
“Ow.”
Evelyn pointed at me.
“That is what happens when you laugh after major surgery.”
“Thank you, Dr. Evelyn.”
“You’re welcome.”
For one brief moment, the tension loosened.
Then Phoebe returned us to reality.
“Naomi, where is the letter now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Last time you saw it?”
“With Luca.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“You never saw it again?”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph Naomi had sent.
“How did you get this picture?”
Another pause.
“Because I took it before he opened the envelope.”
That made me sit up.
“You saw it before Luca did?”
“Yes.”
“Why photograph it?”
“I photograph unfamiliar original documents before they leave locked storage. It’s part of the records protocol you asked me to follow.”
Of course it was.
Something I had created years ago after a contractor misplaced a signed deed amendment.
Another small system.
Another detail I had forgotten.
Suddenly, for the first time all morning, I felt grateful for the version of myself who planned for trouble.
“Do you have photographs of the contents?”
“No. He opened it after I left.”
“Did you see the envelope again afterward?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About a week later.”
“What happened?”
“It was empty.”
A cold realization moved through me.
“Where?”
“His office.”
“Luca’s office?”
“Yes.”
“At the house?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you in there?”
“He asked me to find a travel folder.”
“And the envelope was just sitting there?”
“In his desk drawer.”
Evelyn frowned.
“So the letter is gone.”
“Or moved,” Phoebe said.
My phone buzzed again.
A message from Luca.
Landing early. Need to talk tonight. No lawyers. Just us.
I stared at it.
Something in me changed.
Not dramatically.
Not triumphantly.
I was simply tired of being the last person informed about decisions affecting my own life.
“No,” I said.
Evelyn looked at me.
“No what?”
“No more private conversations designed around what makes Luca comfortable.”
Phoebe’s tone softened.
“What do you want to do?”
I looked at the phone.
Then at Lily.
Then at my sister.
“I want the letter.”
Luca landed at 5:12.
At 5:31, he texted.
I’m coming to Evelyn’s.
Phoebe answered from my phone.
