Seven images.
From Luca.
My hands trembled as I opened the first.
The envelope.
Then page one.
My father’s handwriting filled the cream paper.
Jess,
If you are reading this, then either I found the right time to give it to you, or time made the decision for me.
My eyes blurred.
I stopped.
Evelyn sat beside me.
“You want me to read?”
“No.”
I wiped my face.
“I need to.”
I continued.
There are things parents delay telling their children because we mistake delay for protection. I have done that more than once. You deserve better.
That sentence hit harder than I expected.
I could hear him.
Not literally.
But close enough.
The Ridge house is yours. It has always been intended for you. But the house itself is not the inheritance I am most concerned about. The land beneath and around it is connected to an older agreement between our family and another.
My pulse quickened.
I scrolled.
If you marry Luca Moretti, do not assume my concern is about his character. I do not know him well enough to judge it. My concern is his name.
Evelyn inhaled sharply.
I kept reading.
His grandfather, Antonio Moretti, helped my father during a period our family rarely discussed. Without Antonio, the company you inherited would not exist in its current form. Neither would much of what we later built.
My hands went cold.
Our company?
Not just the house.
