Chapter 11 - The Letter That Arrived After the WeddingThree weeks after I married Luke Sullivan, a letter arrived addressed to Clara Carter.
I almost threw it away.
That name no longer belonged to me.
Technically, it had not belonged to me for years, but seeing it written across the cream envelope still produced a strange sensation, like hearing someone call across a crowded room for a person I used to know.
Luke was standing barefoot in our kitchen, attempting to make pancakes.
Attempting was generous.
“You’re burning something,” I said.
“I’m developing flavor.”
“Smoke is not a flavor.”
“That sounds elitist.”
I smiled and turned the envelope over.
No return address.
Handwritten.
POSTMARK: CHARLESTON.
Luke noticed my expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is your face for something.”
“I have a face for something?”
“You have approximately fourteen.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Mrs. Carter,
You don't know me, but I worked for Nathan eleven years ago.
There is something about Cypress Landing that your attorneys never discovered.
Nathan didn't forge your signature.
I stopped breathing.
Luke turned off the stove.
“What happened?”
I read the sentence again.
Nathan didn't forge your signature.
That made no sense.
Nathan had admitted using my authorization without permission. The forensic examiner concluded the signature had likely been simulated. Nathan had accepted responsibility.
The divorce was finished.
The investigations were finished.
Carter Development had survived.
Nathan had moved on.
So had I.
I continued reading.
Someone forged it for him.
There is a difference.
If you want the truth, ask Nathan who had access to the Bennett family trust documents in 2015.
No signature.
No explanation.
Nothing else.
Luke read it over my shoulder.
“Do you believe it?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you want to know?”
That was the harder question.
For years, my life had been defined by needing answers about Nathan.
Where had he been?
Who was Victoria?
What was Harbor Point?
What had he signed?
What had he hidden?
Eventually, freedom had meant learning that not every unanswered question deserved permanent residence in my head.
“I’m married to you now,” I said.
Luke frowned.
“That wasn't my question.”
“I know.”
“Being married to me doesn't mean you're required to become uninterested in your own history.”
There he was again.
Making emotional maturity deeply inconvenient.
I sat at the kitchen island.
“If Nathan didn't forge it, why did he admit responsibility?”
“Maybe because he authorized it.”
“That's still fraud.”
“Probably.”
“Luke.”
“I'm a photographer. My legal vocabulary ends around probably.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my phone rang.
Nathan.
I stared at the screen.
Luke looked from the phone to me.
“That is creepy timing.”
“Extremely.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nathan sounded strange.
“Clara, did you receive anything today?”
My fingers tightened around the letter.
“What kind of anything?”
Silence.
Then:
“A letter.”
I looked at Luke.
“Yes.”
Nathan exhaled.
“Don't call the number if there’s one inside.”
“There isn't.”
“Good.”
“Nathan, what is this?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You obviously know something.”
“I know Richard Hale disappeared yesterday.”
I stood.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“He missed two meetings. His apartment is empty. His attorney says he hasn't been able to reach him.”
Richard.
Nathan's former partner.
The man who had leaked stories about me during the divorce.
“What does Richard have to do with my signature?”
Nathan didn't answer immediately.
May you like
Then he said something I had never expected.
“Maybe everything.”
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