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The lawyer looked at me.
“You should hide those.”
Fast.
I shoved everything back into the wooden box just as Michael stepped out carrying grocery bags.
He smiled.
“Who’s this?”
The lawyer answered calmly.
“Just delivering old estate paperwork.”
Michael’s smile disappeared for a fraction of a second.
Only a fraction.
But I saw it.
He watched the wooden box.
Too closely.
After the lawyer left, Michael asked casually,
“What was inside?”
“Oh…just some old family papers.”
He studied my face.
“You look pale.”
“I’m just tired.”
That night I couldn’t sleep.
Every sound in the house made me jump.
Around midnight I heard footsteps.
Not upstairs.
Downstairs.
Michael.
Moving carefully.
As though he didn’t want me hearing him.
I quietly opened the bedroom door.
The kitchen light was on.
He stood by the cabinet where I had hidden the wooden box.
Searching.
My heart nearly stopped.
He knew.
The next morning, after he left for work, I drove to my late sister’s old house.
The cedar chest was still stored in the attic.
After nearly an hour of searching, I found the false bottom.
Inside was a thick envelope.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Insurance records.
And a small flash drive.
When I plugged it into my laptop, a video appeared.
Clara.
She looked exhausted.
Her hands shook as she adjusted the camera.
“If you’re watching this…”
“…I’m probably gone.”
Tears streamed down my face.
She continued.
“I’m making this because I’m afraid.”
She described everything written in the letter.
Then she looked directly into the camera.
“If anything happens to me…”
“…please don’t believe it was an accident.”
Suddenly another voice echoed downstairs.
“Clara?”
Michael.
Her face froze.
“I have to go.”
She leaned closer.
“If he ever comes after you…”
“…run.”
The video ended.
My hands were ice cold.
Then my phone rang.
Michael.
“Where are you?”
“Shopping.”
Silence.
Then—
“I stopped by your sister’s house.”