Chapter Twenty Nine
They spent the next three days working through what was left of Daniel Quinn’s storage unit, moving faster now that urgency had replaced the slow, careful pace of their first search. Some nights they stayed up past midnight, coffee standing in for sleep as they worked through the last two boxes.
They found what they needed on the second night, buried near the bottom of a folder labeled simply PERSONAL — a single sheet of paper that changed everything.
It was a letter, handwritten, dated eighteen months before Daniel Quinn’s death, addressed to no one in particular. More like a private record he had kept for himself than anything meant to be sent.
If anyone finds this after I am gone: Edmund’s grandson’s cousin has been asking questions. Cassian Knox came to my offic
