The Letters We Were Meant to Find

Chapter 11

The photograph lay between them on the table, its edges yellowed with age and its surface marked by a thin crease running through the middle. Amara stared at the five figures standing beside the lake, unable to take her eyes away from the man whose face had been deliberately scratched out.

“Who is he?” she asked.

Ruth remained silent for several seconds. Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows, filling the room with an uneasy rhythm.

“You're not ready to know.”

“I've spent my entire life being told that.”

Ruth finally looked at her. “Your father didn't disappear because of the money.”

“Then why?”

“Because he discovered who was stealing it.”

Amara's heart tightened. “Who?”

Ruth reached into her coat and placed a small brass key on the table.

“Locker 17.”

Amara stared at it.

“What's inside?”

“Everything Samuel was afraid would fall into the wrong hands.”

Before Amara could reach for the key, Ruth suddenly turned toward the window.

“We have to leave.”

“Why?”

Ruth's face had gone pale.

“Because we're no longer alone.”

Across the street, a black vehicle had stopped beneath the rain.

Its headlights switched off.

Someone stepped out.

Ruth grabbed Amara's hand.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “do not let them take the key.”