Chapter 4 - MY FATHER’S LAST LETTER
My father died when I was twenty-three.
Officially, it was a heart attack.
He collapsed in his workshop and never regained consciousness.
For years, I had accepted that.
There was no reason not to.
My father, Michael Bradley, had worked constantly.
He smoked.
He had high blood pressure.
His death had been sudden but believable.
After the funeral, Teresa gave me a sealed envelope.
“Your father wanted you to have this when you became a father yourself.”
I asked what was inside.
She said she didn’t know.
I put it in my safe and forgot about it.
Then Frederick was born.
I remembered the envelope.
But new parenthood swallowed everything.
I never opened it.
Now Amy was telling me she had.
“Why?”
I asked.
“Why would you take that letter?”
Amy looked ashamed.
“Because your mother asked about it.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
My skin prickled.
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether you had ever opened something your father left you.”
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“She became nervous.”
“Nervous how?”
“She kept asking questions.”
“Then she went upstairs.”
“To my office?”
“Yes.”
“Did she get into the safe?”
“Not that day.”
“How do you know?”
“Because after she left, I checked.”
Amy took a breath.
“I knew your code.”
“I opened the safe.”
“And the envelope was there.”
“So I took it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought she wanted it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Amy looked at me.
“I wanted to know why.”
Detective Monroe remained silent.
“What did the letter say?”
I asked.
Amy shook her head.
“I didn’t read all of it.”
“You opened it?”
“Yes.”
The betrayal was small compared with everything else happening.
But it still stung.
“That was from my father.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is it?”
“In my sister’s house.”
I blinked.
“You gave it to Megan?”
“I asked her to hold it.”
“Why?”
“Because the first page mentioned your mother.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What did it say?”
Amy looked toward Frederick.
Then at me.
“The first line was, ‘Connor, if Teresa ever tells you I left nothing behind, she is lying.’”
Detective Monroe stopped writing.
I stared at Amy.
“What?”
“That’s what it said.”
“My father had no estate.”
“At least that’s what I was told.”
Amy nodded.
“That’s why I hid the letter.”
I stood.
“We’re getting it.”
Monroe spoke.
“I’d prefer you bring it here without handling it more than necessary.”
“My sister lives fifteen minutes away.”
“Call her.”
I did.
Megan answered on the third ring.
She sounded tired.
“Connor?”
“Is Amy’s envelope still there?”
Silence.
“Megan?”
“What envelope?”
My heart sank.
“Amy gave you an envelope.”
“I did not.”
Amy grabbed the phone.
“Megan.”
“The brown envelope I brought over three weeks ago.”
Another silence.
Then my sister said something that turned the room cold.
“Amy, you never brought me anything.”
Amy stared at me.
“Yes, I did.”
“I put it in the locked drawer in your home office.”
“No.”
“You came on Tuesday.”
“You gave me a grocery bag.”
“That was it.”
Amy’s face went white.
“I put the envelope underneath the bread.”
Megan stopped.
“You told me the bag was for Mom.”
None of us moved.
“What?”
Amy whispered.
Megan sounded confused.
“You said Teresa would pick it up later.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Megan, I never said that.”
Detective Monroe stood.
She held out her hand.
“Put it on speaker.”
I did.
“Megan, this is Detective Rachel Monroe with Metro Nashville Police.”
“I need you to tell me exactly what happened with the grocery bag.”
My sister’s voice changed.
“Why?”
“Please.”
Megan explained that Amy had arrived at her house three weeks earlier.
Amy had seemed distracted.
She gave Megan a paper grocery bag.
Megan said Amy told her not to open it because it was something for Teresa.
Amy shook her head violently.
“No.”
“That did not happen.”
Megan continued.
“Mom came by later.”
My stomach dropped.
“What time?”
“Around six.”
“She said Amy called her.”
“I did not.”
“She took the bag.”
I looked at Monroe.
Someone had altered the story.
Or someone had impersonated Amy.
“Did you see Amy give you the bag?”
Monroe asked.
“Yes.”
“Did she personally tell you it was for Teresa?”
“Yes.”
Amy looked stunned.
Then Megan hesitated.
“Actually…”
“What?”
“I was upstairs when she came in.”
“My husband opened the door.”
“I came down while she was leaving.”
“So you didn’t hear Amy say it?”
“No.”
“Who told you?”
Another pause.
“Jason.”
Megan’s husband.
I knew Jason well.
He was quiet.
Helpful.
The kind of man you forgot was in the room.
Monroe’s expression sharpened.
“Where is your husband now?”
“At work.”
“What does he do?”
“He works for a title company.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What title company?”
Megan answered.
“Shaw Property Services.”
Leonard Shaw.
My sister’s husband worked for Leonard Shaw.
I couldn’t breathe.
Megan heard the silence.
“Connor?”
“What is happening?”
I looked at Detective Monroe.
She was already reaching for her phone.
“Megan.”
“Do not call Jason.”
“Do not call Mom.”
“Lock your doors.”
“Stay inside.”
My sister’s voice shook.
“Why?”
Before I could answer, I received another message from the unknown number.
A photograph.
This one showed my father’s brown envelope.
It was sitting open on a desk.
Beside it was the original deed to my house.
And beneath both documents was a handwritten note.
One sentence was circled in red.
MICHAEL BRADLEY TRUST — BENEFICIARY: CONNOR BRADLEY.
The message underneath said:
YOUR HOUSE WAS NEVER THE REAL PRIZE.
I stared at the screen.
Another text appeared.
ASK TERESA WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER’S LAND.
I had no idea my father had owned land.
But apparently my mother did.
May you like
And so did whoever was watching us.
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