Gabriel
Azeelia’s hands shook so hard the yellow legal paper fluttered like a dry leaf.
She knelt on the dusty floorboards of the abandoned cabin, her knuckles white, her lower lip caught between her teeth until it was nearly bleeding. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was fighting the grief with every ounce of stubborn pride she possessed.
I stayed on one knee beside her, not speaking, giving her the space to absorb the words of a dead man.
Azeelia, if you are reading this, I failed, the letter read in Ethan's hurried, familiar script.
I am so sorry I lied to you. Every time I told you I was working late on standard corporate taxes, I was digging through blood money. Two years ago, I audited an import firm and found shell accounts washing hundreds of mil
