Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.
“She didn’t give it to me here at the hospital,” Florence corrected smoothly.
Her voice dropped to a quiet whisper.
“She handed this envelope to me right on the grounds of the Laurel Street estate,” Florence revealed.
I stared at the nurse in total disbelief.
“You’ve been to the Laurel Street estate yourself?” I asked, astonished.
“I’ve been to that property many times over the years,” Florence admitted calmly.
“For what possible reason?” I pressed, needing to know.
“Because your grandfather personally asked me to keep a watchful eye on something important after he died,” she revealed softly.
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