Chapter 4 - The Letter From My Dead Husband
I couldn't open the envelope.
For almost a minute, I simply stared at it.
Julian had been dead for six years.
And yet his handwriting was sitting in my hands.
“Where did you get this?”
Dad sat down.
“A lawyer delivered it.”
“What lawyer?”
“Thomas Avery.”
I knew the name.
Thomas had handled several matters for Julian before his death.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single letter.
Clara,
If you're reading this, something happened that I hoped would never happen.
My hands began shaking.
I know you will want answers. I need you to hear them from me.
I read silently.
Julian had known he was sick.
He had discovered a genetic condition months before his death.
He hadn't told me immediately because he believed treatment would work.
But there was something else.
He had been investigating financial irregularities connected to his former employer.
Money had been moved through several shell companies.
One of them had eventually become the seed money for Halestone.
My breath caught.
Julian hadn't simply encouraged my company.
He had helped me build the foundation.
And he had left me something else.
A protected trust.
Not for me.
For Matthew.
The trust contained shares that would eventually make my son independently wealthy.
But there was a condition.
Matthew couldn't access them until he turned twenty-five.
Julian wanted him to grow up without money defining him.
I cried.
Not because of the money.
Because Julian had known exactly what I wanted for our son.
A normal childhood.
A chance to become whoever he wanted.
The letter continued.
Your family will eventually ask you for money.
I laughed through my tears.
Julian had known.
Don't punish them with wealth. Don't reward them with it either. Let their choices reveal who they are.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
That was Julian.
Always thinking ten steps ahead.
Then I found the final paragraph.
There is one more thing. I believe someone in your family may have information about the night I died.
My heart stopped.
I read it again.
The night Julian died had always been called an accident.
His car had crashed on an icy road.
But there had been strange details.
A missing phone.
A second vehicle.
An insurance policy changed two weeks before his death.
I had never questioned it because grief had made everything blurry.
Now I wondered.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Julian thought someone might have been involved in his death.”
My father looked away.
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“I knew he was worried.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were pregnant.”
“I wasn't pregnant.”
“You had just given birth.”
My voice became cold.
“You let me believe my husband died in an accident.”
“I didn't know enough to tell you otherwise.”
“Who did you suspect?”
He said nothing.
Then my mother entered.
She had heard everything.
“You're digging up the past again?”
I turned.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
She crossed her arms.
“Your husband was reckless.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He was driving too fast.”
“That's what the police said.”
“Exactly.”
“You never liked him.”
“I never trusted him.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because he changed you.”
The words stunned me.
My mother continued.
“Before Julian, you listened to me.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“After Julian, you became independent.”
“Yes.”
“He convinced you that you didn't need your family.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I realized I didn't need to be controlled.”
My mother slapped the table.
“You always think you're better than everyone.”
I stood.
“No.”
I picked up Julian's letter.
“I think I'm finally done letting you decide who I am.”
I walked out.
But before I reached the car, Dad followed.
“Clara.”
I stopped.
He handed me another document.
“Your mother doesn't know I have this.”
“What is it?”
“A copy of Julian's accident report.”
I looked at it.
There was a handwritten note attached.
Vehicle seen leaving scene before emergency services arrived.
I stared at the words.
“Who wrote this?”
“An investigator.”
“Who?”
Dad swallowed.
“Julian.”
My blood ran cold.
“He investigated his own accident?”
“No.”
Dad looked at me.
“He investigated someone else's.”
May you like
“Whose?”
“Your mother's.”
