Chapter 10 - THE SECOND KEY
“What second key?”
Samuel's question silenced the dining room.
Nicholas stared at the letter.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he reached into his jacket and removed a small silver key attached to a black leather cord.
Margaret inhaled sharply.
“Nicholas.”
He placed the key beside Samuel's plate.
“My father gave me this when I was twenty-four,” he said.
Daniel leaned forward.
“I remember that day.”
Nicholas nodded.
“It was three months before he died.”
Samuel studied the key.
“What does it open?”
Nicholas looked toward his mother.
“Dad said it belonged to something he wanted kept away from the family.”
Margaret's expression tightened.
“And you kept it?”
“Yes.”
“For eighteen years?”
Nicholas nodded.
“I was angry with him. I didn't want anything he'd left me, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.”
I understood that feeling.
Sometimes the things we keep aren't precious because we love the person who gave them to us.
Sometimes we keep them because we haven't decided what to do with the hurt.
Samuel carefully unfolded the letter again.
“Why did he tell me to ask you?”
Nicholas examined the envelope.
“It was probably included in the records Robert sent you.”
Samuel nodded.
“He said my father had wanted me to know the truth.”
Margaret's face hardened.
“Robert has never cared about the truth.”
“Maybe not,” Samuel said. “But I still want to know what the key opens.”
Nicholas looked at Daniel.
“Dad had a private records cabinet in his old office.”
Daniel frowned.
“The one you moved into storage?”
“Yes.”
Within an hour, Marco arranged for the cabinet to be brought into the study.
It was a narrow mahogany piece with brass fittings.
The key opened its bottom drawer.
Inside were old correspondence, several photographs, and a sealed envelope.
Nicholas read the inscription.
For my sons.
He looked at Daniel.
Then at Samuel.
“Maybe that means all three of us.”
The words hung between them.
Samuel looked startled.
He had only just learned the truth about his father.
Now Nicholas had called him family.
Without conditions.
Nicholas opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter Anthony had written during the final months of his life.
It was not an apology.
Not really.
Anthony described his fear of losing the waterfront properties, his resentment toward Margaret for questioning him, and his decision to trust Robert Laurent with the arrangement involving Samuel.
But near the end, his words changed.
I have begun to suspect Robert intends to keep everything. He has altered records I did not authorize. If my sons ever discover what happened, they must not trust his account of Carolyn Carter.
Daniel read the passage twice.
“He knew Robert was cheating him.”
Margaret's expression was bitter.
“He cared about losing money. Not about what happened to Carolyn.”
Samuel quietly folded the letter.
“I don't think I want to keep this.”
Nicholas nodded.
“You don't have to.”
He offered him the envelope.
“It's your choice.”
Samuel placed it on the desk.
“Maybe the investigators should have it.”
That settled the question.
The cabinet and its contents would be documented and added to the evidence already preserved.
But there was another discovery.
At the bottom of the drawer lay a photograph of Nicholas and Daniel as children.
Nicholas was twelve.
Daniel was six.
Their father stood behind them, one hand resting on each boy's shoulder.
On the back, Margaret had written:
My boys, summer 1996.
Nicholas studied the picture.
“I remember that day.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“You pushed me into the lake.”
“You pushed me first.”
For a moment, they looked like brothers instead of men who had inherited a lifetime of suspicion.
Then Nicholas turned toward Samuel.
“We can't give you those years back.”
Samuel nodded.
“I know.”
“But you don't have to spend the next eighteen wondering where you belong.”
The young man lowered his eyes.
“I already have a family. My foster parents raised me. They were good to me.”
Nicholas smiled.
“Then we'd like to meet them.”
Samuel looked surprised.
“You would?”
“Of course.”
That evening, I helped Margaret prepare for bed.
She wore her rosary around her wrist.
“Emily,” she said, “I owe your mother more than an apology.”
“Yes,” I answered.
She nodded.
“I intend to spend however much time I have left making things right.”
For once, I believed her.
Later, Nicholas found me in the hallway.
“Your mother shouldn't have to worry about paying for her care,” he said.
I stiffened.
“I don't want charity.”
“I know.”
He explained that the family's legitimate charitable foundation had an independent assistance program for employees' families, with formal eligibility rules.
He wanted me to have the application information.
“No favors. No conditions. And no Vanessa controlling it.”
I considered him.
Then nodded.
“Thank you.”
But as Nicholas turned to leave, Samuel approached carrying one last item from the cabinet.
A faded envelope addressed in Anthony's handwriting.
It had never been opened.
Across the front were three words.
FOR CAROLYN CARTER.
May you like
Samuel looked at me.
“Emily, I think Mom should decide whether to read this.”
