Chapter 11 — My Dear Nora

Arthur nodded toward the leather notebook.

“Open it,” he said.

“Julian wrote his final instructions to you on the last page.

He wanted you to read them in his own hand.”

I opened the journal to the marked page, and there it was, Julian’s neat, flowing handwriting, the careful penmanship of a man who had spent his life doing precise work with his hands.

My dear Nora, it read. If you are reading this, my heart has finally found its peace.