Chapter 2 - The Letter Hidden Behind the Truth
I stared at the phone screen until the words stopped looking like words.
You should have left before he found the letter.
The restaurant noise disappeared.
The conversations.
The glasses.
The footsteps of servers moving between tables.
Everything faded into the background.
There was only that message.
And the photo.
I zoomed in.
My fingers moved slowly because some part of me already knew what I was going to see.
The person standing behind Marcus and Cassandra was not a stranger.
Not exactly.
It was someone I had seen before.
Someone who should not have been there.
A man in a dark suit standing near the entrance of the private dining room.
Watching.
Waiting.
My stomach tightened.
Because I recognized the scar above his eyebrow.
I recognized the way he stood.
The way he kept his hands folded behind his back.
The way his eyes never moved away from me.
"No."
The word escaped my mouth before I could stop it.
Marcus immediately noticed.
"What is it?"
I locked my phone.
Too late.
His eyes had already caught the change in my expression.
"Evelyn."
I looked at him.
For some reason, I wanted to lie.
I wanted to say it was nothing.
A wrong number.
A meaningless message.
Anything that would allow me to walk away from that room and pretend the past had not just reached across years to find me.
But I had never been good at pretending.
Not with myself.
Not with him.
"Someone took this picture."
Marcus looked at my phone.
"Who?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know."
That was the first lie.
Because I did know.
I just didn't know why he was here.
Marcus watched me carefully.
He had the kind of eyes that noticed things people tried to hide.
"You know him."
It wasn't a question.
I looked toward the entrance.
The man was gone.
Like he had never been there.
But I knew what I saw.
And I knew what that message meant.
Before I could answer, Cassandra stepped between us.
"Marcus, this is ridiculous."
Her voice was sharper now.
The confidence she had carried earlier was starting to crack.
"You are seriously going to let her create some kind of mystery because she received a strange text?"
Marcus turned toward her.
"This isn't about the text."
"Then what is it about?"
He looked at the soaked blouse.
The broken glass.
The entire room watching.
"It's about the fact that you embarrassed someone I invited."
Cassandra laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
"Someone you invited?"
She looked at me.
Then back at him.
"Do you even know who she is?"
The question landed strangely.
Because it sounded like a warning.
Not an insult.
Marcus noticed it too.
"What does that mean?"
Cassandra opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
For the first time that night, she looked uncertain.
And that scared me more than her cruelty.
People like Cassandra did not hesitate.
They did not lose control.
Unless they knew something.
Something I didn't.
I stepped forward.
"What are you talking about?"
She looked at me.
Her expression changed.
Not sympathy.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
"You really don't know."
My heartbeat became louder.
"Know what?"
Cassandra looked away.
"Ask Marcus."
The entire room went silent again.
I turned toward him.
Marcus looked confused.
"Ask me what?"
Nobody answered.
Then Cassandra picked up her purse.
"I think dinner is over."
She walked away.
Not dramatically.
Not angrily.
Almost like someone escaping before something worse happened.
Marcus watched her leave.
Then he looked back at me.
"I need to explain something."
I hated those words.
Because every time someone said them, it meant the truth was usually worse than what came before.
"What?"
He hesitated.
A person like Marcus Bellamy did not hesitate.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
"The letter."
My hands became cold.
"Why do you have my mother's letter?"
He looked down at the paper.
"I didn't know it was yours."
"Then why was it inside my proposal?"
"I don't know."
I stared at him.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No."
His answer surprised me.
"I expect you to believe that I'm trying to figure it out too."
The honesty stopped me.
Marcus placed the paper on the table.
Carefully.
Like it was something fragile.
"I found this attached behind your documents when I reviewed your proposal."
I picked it up.
The paper was old.
Folded twice.
The edges were worn.
My mother's handwriting covered the front.
Evelyn.
I knew that handwriting better than my own.
She wrote every birthday card.
Every note packed into my school lunches.
Every reminder that I was stronger than I believed.
But I had never seen this letter.
Because my mother died before she could give it to me.
At least, that was what I had been told.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
"Where did you get this?"
Marcus looked at me.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
I unfolded it.
The first line made my breath disappear.
Evelyn,
If you are reading this, it means they failed to keep the truth from you.
I stopped.
The room moved around me.
But I couldn't hear anything.
They.
That word.
One word.
But it changed everything.
My mother had not written a goodbye.
She had written a warning.
I kept reading.
I only got a few more sentences before my vision blurred.
Your father did not lose everything because of bad decisions.
Someone made sure he did.
I looked up.
Marcus was watching me.
"You knew."
"No."
"You knew something about my family."
"I knew your last name."
"That's not what I asked."
His jaw tightened.
I had seen that expression before.
The expression of someone carrying information they didn't want to reveal.
"Your father was involved with Bellamy Holdings twenty years ago."
I froze.
"What?"
"My father knew him."
The room suddenly felt too small.
"My father never worked for your company."
Marcus looked away.
"He wasn't an employee."
The silence between us grew.
"He was a partner."
I stared at him.
"No."
My voice came out quieter than I expected.
"My father was a mechanic."
Marcus looked at me.
"Who told you that?"
The question hurt.
Because I had no answer.
My entire life had been built around a story.
A simple story.
My father lost his business.
My mother struggled.
We moved away.
They started over.
That was it.
But now everything had cracks.
And behind those cracks was something I didn't recognize.
I looked back at the letter.
There was another sentence written beneath my mother's handwriting.
A sentence I had never noticed before.
Maybe because the ink was faded.
Maybe because I was too shocked.
But now I saw it.
The words were small.
Almost hidden.
Trust the man who carries the black watch.
My eyes slowly lifted.
Marcus was wearing a black watch.
The same one he had been wearing all night.
I stepped backward.
He noticed.
"Evelyn?"
I looked at his wrist.
Then at his face.
"Why are you wearing that watch?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"The watch."
He glanced down.
"My father gave it to me."
"When?"
Marcus went quiet.
"Why does that matter?"
Because my mother had mentioned it.
Because she had hidden a message.
Because she had somehow known I would meet him.
I looked around the restaurant.
Everyone had left.
The private room was almost empty.
Except for us.
And the letter.
And the questions that had just appeared.
Marcus picked up his phone.
"I need to make a call."
"To who?"
He didn't answer.
That worried me.
He walked toward the hallway.
I followed.
"Marcus."
He stopped.
Slowly turned.
His expression had changed.
"What?"
"Who is the man in the picture?"
The color disappeared from his face.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
"You saw him?"
I felt my heart drop.
"You know him."
Marcus looked toward the dark hallway.
Then back at me.
"Where did you see him?"
"Outside."
His breathing changed.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
Because Marcus Bellamy looked more afraid than I had ever seen him.
And then his phone rang.
The screen showed a name.
A name I recognized.
A name I had not heard in twelve years.
Marcus answered.
He only listened.
Then his face changed completely.
"Evelyn."
I stepped closer.
"What?"
He slowly lowered the phone.
"Someone broke into my office."
I waited.
"Someone was looking for the same letter."
My blood ran cold.
"Who?"
Marcus looked past me.
Toward the entrance.
May you like
And whispered the name of the person who had been watching us all night...
"Daniel Hart."
