It was six months of a frightened old man’s patient, methodical courage, hidden in a trunk, waiting for someone to come and find it.

And on the very last page, in handwriting that had degraded to something barely legible — the hand, I realized, of a man writing in the last hour before his stroke — there was a message, and it was addressed to me.

Chapter 12 — The Last Page

“Alexander,” it read.

“Maya and Ryan have been stealing from you for years.

Lucy is entirely innocent.

Forgive me for staying silent so long.