Her face changed.
The sentence mentioning Lily had been added later.
Someone had altered my father’s letter.
I scrolled faster.
The last page was mostly original handwriting.
Then, near the bottom, another black-ink paragraph appeared.
If the Moretti family requests access to the Ridge assets, do not refuse without hearing them. The original record can be found where your mother left it.
I stared at those words.
My mother.
Evelyn whispered, “Mom?”
Our mother had died when I was twelve.
Dad rarely spoke about the months before her death.
And he had certainly never told us she had anything to do with family financial records.
“Where Mom left it,” Evelyn repeated.
I looked at her.
“What did Mom leave?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone rang.
Luca.
I answered immediately.
“You altered the letter.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“Some of the ink is different.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The sentence with Lily’s name.”
Luca went quiet.
Too quiet.
“Luca.”
“I didn’t write that.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had the letter.”
“Yes.”
“For six months.”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to believe someone else changed it?”
His voice dropped.
“Jessi, I swear to you, Lily’s name was already there when I opened it.”
My skin prickled.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“No one knew her name.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t even know.”
“I know.”
“Then how—”
“I don’t know.”
For once, I believed his confusion.
Not because I trusted him.
Because fear is difficult to fake when you know someone well.
And Luca sounded afraid.
Not of me.
Of the same thing I was beginning to fear.
