Chapter 2: The Secret Inside the Burning Leather
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The fire pit crackled beneath the oak trees.
Sloan was crouched beside it, one hand covering her mouth, the other reaching desperately toward the burning handbag.
"My purse!"" she screamed.
"Harrison, do something!""
Harrison didn't move.
He was staring at the small brass key lying between two pieces of burning leather.
I knew that key.
I had seen it hundreds of times before.
Robert used to keep it on a small silver ring attached to his house keys. It belonged to a private storage cabinet in his old architectural office.
After his death, I had searched everywhere for it.
I assumed it had been lost.
Now it was inside Sloan's purse.
"Get it out!"" Sloan shouted at the caterer.
"Use something! That's a six-thousand-dollar bag!""
The caterer grabbed a long metal fireplace tool and carefully moved the handbag away from the hottest part of the fire.
A corner of the leather collapsed.
Something else fell out.
A small black envelope.
It landed on the stone edge of the fire pit, its contents protected from the flames.
Harrison finally snapped out of his shock.
He picked it up.
"Don't touch that!"" Sloan shouted.
He turned toward her.
"Why?""
"Because it's private!""
"Then why was it hidden inside your purse?""
Sloan stood up.
Her face had turned red.
"Give it to me, Harrison.""
He looked at the envelope.
There was handwriting on the front.
Robert's handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
My knees nearly gave out.
"That's your father's writing," Harrison said.
I stepped closer.
"What does it say?""
Harrison turned the envelope toward the patio lights.
There were only four words.
For Harrison. If necessary.
My son looked at me.
"Mom, did Dad leave something for me?""
"I don't know.""
And that was the truth.
Robert had always been private about his business. He kept his architectural drawings, contracts, and personal documents organized in a locked cabinet at his office.
After his death, Harrison and I had spent several days going through the paperwork.
We found insurance documents, property records, retirement accounts, and a few handwritten letters.
But there had been no envelope like this.
No secret instructions.
Nothing addressed to Harrison.
Until now.
Sloan stepped between us.
"You're both being ridiculous. That envelope probably belongs to someone else.""
Harrison raised an eyebrow.
"Someone else with my father's handwriting?""
"You know what I mean.""
"No, Sloan. I really don't.""
She reached for the envelope.
He moved it behind his back.
"Stop," he said.
For the first time that evening, his voice sounded like Robert's.
Firm.
Uncompromising.
Sloan stared at him.
"Are you seriously taking your mother's side over me?""
Harrison didn't answer.
I watched my son carefully.
He looked confused, frightened, and suddenly much older than the boy I remembered.
"Open it," I said.
Sloan shook her head.
"Margaret, this is completely inappropriate.""
I looked at her.
"Your purse was sitting in my backyard. You were the one who decided to keep whatever was inside it.""
"That doesn't give you the right to destroy my property!""
"You destroyed my birthday cake.""
"That was an accident!""
I almost laughed.
An accident?
I had watched her push the stand.
I had watched her smile.
And everyone else had, too.
Rebecca stepped forward.
"I saw what happened, Sloan. You deliberately shoved it.""
Sloan glared at her.
"Nobody asked you.""
Harrison opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small photograph.
He unfolded the paper first.
His expression changed immediately.
"What?"" I asked.
He read the first line again.
Then he looked at Sloan.
"Where did you get this?""
She shook her head.
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
Harrison held up the paper.
"Why is there a copy of Dad's property deed in your purse?""
Sloan's lips parted.
For the first time, she had no immediate response.
I moved closer.
"What property deed?""
Harrison turned the document toward me.
It was a copy of the deed to a commercial building in downtown Dallas.
Robert had purchased the property years before his death. It was a three-story brick building that he had renovated into office suites.
He had always referred to it as his retirement investment.
The rental income helped pay for the house, our travel expenses, and the occasional financial assistance we gave Harrison.
But after Robert died, the property was supposed to remain in the family trust.
I had assumed everything was in order.
Harrison pointed to the bottom of the document.
"Mom, look at this.""
There was a handwritten note in the margin.
Never authorize a transfer without verifying Harrison's signature.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Why would Dad write that?""
Harrison looked at the photograph.
It showed Robert standing outside the commercial building.
Beside him was a younger man I didn't recognize.
On the back, Robert had written a date.
And beneath it:
The person who came to the office after me.
Sloan suddenly reached for the photograph.
Harrison pulled away.
"Enough!"" he shouted.
The sound echoed across the backyard.
Everyone went quiet again.
Sloan's eyes filled with tears.
"You're humiliating me.""
I looked at the burned handbag.
"Nobody forced you to hide something in there.""
She turned toward me.
"You have no idea what you're talking about.""
"Then explain it.""
"I don't have to explain anything to you.""
Harrison looked at the document again.
"Actually, you do.""
He turned toward me.
"Mom, Dad's old office. Do you remember the storage cabinet?""
"Of course.""
"Did anyone ever open it after he died?""
I shook my head.
"I thought you did.""
Harrison frowned.
"No. I thought you had the key.""
We stared at each other.
Then we both looked at the brass key lying on the stone ledge.
Robert had hidden it.
Sloan had carried it.
And neither of us knew why.
Rebecca approached us quietly.
"Margaret, there's something else.""
I turned.
"What?""
She glanced toward Sloan.
Then she lowered her voice.
"I saw her taking pictures of some of your paperwork last month.""
My heart began beating faster.
"What paperwork?""
"The documents in your study. The ones about the property.""
Sloan immediately interrupted.
"Rebecca, shut your mouth.""
Rebecca stepped backward.
"I wasn't going to say anything, but this is getting out of hand.""
Harrison turned toward his wife.
"You went through Mom's study?""
"I was looking for something.""
"What?""
Sloan hesitated.
"Something important.""
"That isn't an answer.""
She wiped her eyes.
"Your mother has been keeping things from us.""
I stared at her.
"What things?""
Sloan looked directly at me.
"Robert promised Harrison something before he died.""
The sentence landed like a stone.
Harrison frowned.
"What did he promise me?""
Sloan glanced toward the guests.
"Not here.""
"No. Right here.""
She shook her head.
"Your mother knows.""
I looked at her, genuinely confused.
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
Sloan laughed bitterly.
"Of course you don't.""
Harrison stepped closer.
"Sloan, stop playing games.""
She folded her arms.
"Your father promised you the building. He told me himself.""
I looked at the deed.
Then at Harrison.
Robert had never told me he intended to transfer the building directly to our son.
Not once.
"That's not true," I said.
Sloan's eyes narrowed.
"You weren't there.""
"Neither were you, as far as I know.""
She looked away.
That tiny movement told me more than her words.
Harrison noticed it, too.
"How do you know what Dad promised me?""
Sloan swallowed.
"Because he told me.""
"When?""
"Before he died.""
"Where?""
"At the hospital.""
I stared at her.
Robert had spent his final days in a private room at Baylor University Medical Center.
He had been weak, exhausted, and heavily medicated.
I had barely left his side.
Harrison had visited almost every day.
But I couldn't remember Sloan ever being alone with him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"" Harrison asked.
"Because your mother would have interfered.""
I felt my face grow hot.
"Interfered with what?""
Sloan lifted her chin.
"With what was supposed to belong to your husband.""
Harrison looked down at the deed again.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
"Then why is the document marked with a warning about my signature?""
Sloan said nothing.
I took a breath.
"There's only one way to find out.""
I pointed toward the house.
"We're going to Robert's old office.""
Sloan shook her head.
"Absolutely not.""
Harrison turned toward her.
"Why?""
"Because it's late.""
"Then we'll go tomorrow.""
"No.""
Her response was too quick.
Harrison stared at her.
"Why not?""
Sloan looked at the burning handbag.
Then at the brass key.
May you like
Finally, she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Because the cabinet isn't empty.""
