“The truth.”
“Claire, don’t start drama.”
I closed my suitcase.
“I’m not starting anything.”
“Good. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“No,” I said.
He laughed dismissively.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I went downstairs to the home office and unlocked the filing cabinet Daniel never bothered opening.
Inside were thirty years of documents.
Property deeds.
Partnership agreements.
Tax records.
And one particular document Daniel had signed six years earlier without reading carefully because, as usual, he had told me, “You handle the boring stuff.”
I rested my hand on the folder.
For years,
