Chapter 3 - The Envelope
My mother had never told me she knew the Blake family.
She had never mentioned Richard Blake.
And she had certainly never told me that two weeks before her death she had walked into one of Manhattan’s wealthiest homes carrying evidence of financial crimes.
I stared at Margaret.
“What happened to the documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
Alexander looked at me sharply.
I didn’t care.
Fourteen years of my life had been built around the belief that my mother died exhausted, overworked, and defeated by circumstances nobody could control.
Now Margaret was telling me there had been another story.
“I was fourteen,” I said. “My mother died, my father drowned in debt, and I gave up everything. So please don’t tell me you don’t know.”
Margaret lowered herself into a chair.
“Elena came here terrified. She had been doing temporary bookkeeping work for one of Richard’s charities. She found transfers that didn’t make sense.”
Alexander rubbed his jaw.
“My father’s foundation?”
“Yes.”
Margaret continued.
“She believed money had been redirected from employee retirement funds through charitable accounts and shell companies.”
Alexander shook his head.
“My father could be ruthless, but stealing pensions?”
“Your father was capable of more than you knew.”
The words landed heavily.
Vanessa moved toward the door.
“This conversation is insane.”
Alexander stopped her.
“Stay.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because you were standing beside me when I publicly humiliated Lena. You can stand here while I learn why.”
Something about his voice had changed.
The arrogance was disappearing.
Margaret handed me the envelope.
Inside was one handwritten note.
My mother’s handwriting.
Lena,
If anything ever happens to me, remember what I told you about counting.
One, two, three.
Never skip the third step.
Love always,
Mom.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Alexander leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But I did remember something.
Our dance lessons.
Mom always insisted on counting.
One, two, three.
Even when the music changed.
Even when I complained.
Never skip the third step.
I closed my eyes.
A memory surfaced.
Our apartment.
My mother kneeling beside the old wooden trunk where she kept costumes.
She had removed three floorboards beneath it once.
I had asked why.
She laughed.
“Every dancer needs a secret place.”
I opened my eyes.
“The apartment.”
“What?”
“My childhood apartment.”
Margaret stood.
“Do you still have access?”
“My father moved out years ago.”
Alexander pulled out his phone.
“What’s the address?”
I hesitated.
“I’m not giving you my childhood address.”
“You think I’m involved?”
“I think your family spent fourteen years keeping secrets.”
His face tightened.
Fair.
He put away the phone.
“Then you go.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“This is unbelievable.”
Alexander turned to her.
“You should leave.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Her expression hardened.
“You’re choosing the cleaning woman over me?”
“No.”
He glanced toward me.
“I’m choosing the truth over pretending nothing happened.”
Vanessa laughed coldly.
“You’ll regret humiliating me.”
She slammed the door behind her.
I looked at Alexander.
“Congratulations.”
“For what?”
“You successfully left your girlfriend.”
Despite everything, Margaret made a strange choking sound that might have been a laugh.
Alexander almost smiled.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from my building supervisor appeared.
LENA—DON’T COME BACK TO WORK TOMORROW. MANAGEMENT SAYS YOU’RE TERMINATED.
I showed Alexander.
His face darkened.
“I didn’t authorize that.”
“Someone did.”
Another message arrived.
Unknown number.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING, LENA.
May you like
My blood went cold.
Nobody outside this room knew we were digging.
