The Letter Thomas Left Behind
Chapter 02 - The Letter Thomas Left Behind
Eleanor read the letter three times.
The first time, she cried.
The second time, she became angry.
The third time, she finally understood that Thomas had not been writing from fear of death.
He had been writing from fear of what their family was becoming.
Ellie,
There is forty-eight thousand dollars in the sack. It is yours. Not Michael’s. Not Vanessa’s. Yours.
I moved it out of the household account after I found documents with your signature on them that I do not believe you signed.
Do not confront anyone until you speak with Samuel Hart.
He knows where the records are.
And Eleanor—please remember this. Loving our son does not require letting him destroy you.
Thomas
Eleanor stared at the final sentence until the ink blurred through her tears.
Samuel Hart had been Thomas’s accountant for nearly thirty years.
He had also been their friend.
But after Thomas died, Samuel had vanished from family gatherings. Vanessa once claimed he had retired suddenly. Michael said the old man had become “confused.”
Eleanor had accepted that explanation because grief made almost anything believable.
Now she wondered how many things she had accepted simply because the truth would have hurt more.
She found Samuel’s number in an old address book.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Samuel?”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Eleanor?”
She closed her eyes.
“I found Thomas’s letter.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“Where are you?”
“At the cabin.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Lock the door.”
Eleanor glanced toward it.
Her heart began beating faster.
“Samuel, what is happening?”
“I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
“What did Thomas find?”
Samuel exhaled.
“I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”
“You’re frightening me.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“But you need to hear this from someone who can look you in the eye.”
Forty-two minutes later, headlights appeared through the rain.
Samuel Hart stepped onto the cabin porch carrying a battered leather briefcase.
He was seventy-one now, thinner than Eleanor remembered, with tired eyes and rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
When she opened the door, he looked at her wet clothes, the broken furnace, and the burlap sack on the table.
His expression hardened.
“Michael did this?”
Eleanor nodded.
Samuel removed his hat.
“Then Thomas was right.”
He opened the briefcase.
Inside were copies of bank documents, loan papers, and property records.
Eleanor stared at the first page.
Her name was printed clearly at the bottom.
Eleanor M. Rose.
And beneath it was a signature that looked almost exactly like hers.
Almost.
She touched the page.
“I never signed this.”
“I know,” Samuel said.
“What is it?”
“A guarantee.”
“For what?”
Samuel looked at her.
“For the loan Michael and Vanessa used to keep Rose Development alive.”
Eleanor’s face went pale.
“How much?”
Samuel hesitated.
May you like
Then he told her.
“Two point six million dollars.”
