Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“I give him credit. I do. I know I sound critical.” She runs her hand over one of the boxes before turning to me with a quirked eyebrow. “Well, it seems like we have a lot of work to do.”
“You don’t have to help me with this.”
“What, I’m going to let you go through a million boxes all by yourself? Please. Just tell me what to look for, and we’ll get the work done twice as fast.”
She pauses in the act of lifting the lid from one of the boxes, turning to me, her teeth sinking into her lip. “That is unless you don’t want me to. I understand if you don’t.”
“No, that’s not it.” And it isn’t, which in itself is surprising enough. “I didn’t expect you to want to help.”
“You don’t have to do everything all by yourself.” With that, she removes the lid from a box and pulls out an armful of files. “So what are we looking for?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not exactly sure.”
“Ah, so we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, but we don’t know what the needle looks like? Even better.” But she’s grinning as she sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged with the files stacked beside her.
I can trust her, can’t I? It seems like I should. She is my wife. She’s witnessed me doing terrible things.
I’ve done terrible things to her.
Yet here she is, eager to help. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand her.
“You see, shortly before his death, he made a series of large payments. I know two of those payments went to Frankie.” His name curdles in my mouth, even now that he’s dead. Just because he paid the price doesn’t mean my attitude toward him has softened any. I’m still not completely sure I believe his story. Why would the man want to die? Was he sick? If he was, why wouldn’t he tell me? That’s the question at the heart of all of this, the one that sticks in my craw and keeps me up at night, thinking. Didn’t he trust me? Shouldn’t I have been let in on the secret, considering I was meant to take his place? It might have been nice to be clued in so I could prepare myself. This could all have been done so much more intelligently.
Instead, I have hours’ worth of searching to do with no clear goal in sight.
“The payment went to someone with the initials D.S.,” I conclude. “So that’s where I’m starting. Anything to anyone with that name. An invoice, a receipt, anything you can find.”
“You’ve got it.” Using the scrunchie on her wrist, she gathers her hair into a bun on top of her head, then cracks her knuckles before flipping open the first folder. My chest swells at the sight.
The next couple of hours is spent mostly silent, with only the sounds of flipping pages and the occasional frustrated sigh punctuating the quiet. The guards on duty are outside the house—that was my specific request since I don’t necessarily want them hanging around while I go through Grandfather’s private things. For a moment, I can almost pretend we’re a normal couple working to solve a problem together. It isn’t as easy to believe that when we’re surrounded by bodyguards.
“Wow, some of this is older than either of us. It looks like it was typed out on an actual typewriter.” She shakes her head in wonder, thumbing through a stack of stapled pages. “Old contracts.”
“He didn’t believe in throwing anything away—which I suppose is part of the reason we’re surrounded by a forest worth of paper.”
“It’s interesting, though.” She runs her fingers over the page she landed on and smiles. “It’s like touching history. I know this isn’t exactly the Declaration of Independence, but it is an old contract signed more than thirty years ago. I wonder what life was like back then.”
“Probably not very much different than it is now—only back then, he had no choice but to keep everything in hardcopy.” I, on the other hand, am going through files from a few years ago. “This? Could have been scanned and shredded.”
She pulls an empty box down beside her and refills it, then pushes it aside before tackling another. “Be careful,” I warn, glancing up from my work. “I don’t want you lifting any of these boxes while they’re still full.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.” Is that fondness in her voice, in her smile? Do I want it to be?
She settles in with another stack of folders, and the pleased little noise she makes grabs my attention. “This is a lot more recent. Thank goodness.”
“Yes, there aren’t even any dates on the folders.”
“No offense, but I can almost imagine him laughing to himself over what a mess he knew he was leaving for you. I know he probably wouldn’t do that,” she’s quick to add when I frown. “But it would be kind of funny if he did.”