Following the sudden death of my husband, I couldn’t muster the courage to step into his garage. He had always firmly prohibited me from entering that space. Yet, when the time came to put it up for sale, I unlocked the door and was struck with shock at what lay inside…

My legs couldn’t hold me up anymore. Why are you here? I asked. Why today? Logan reached into his backpack and pulled out a folded document, yellowed at the edges.

He held it out. And I hesitated before taking it. It’s a draft of a will, he said.

Unfinished. Unofficial. My father gave it to me two weeks before he died.

He said the official one would go to you. But this one, this was just in case. I unfolded the paper.

And there it was. Thomas’s handwriting, steady and familiar, looping across the page like it always had on birthday cards and dinner notes. It wasn’t notarized.

Just scribbled lines dividing assets. Mention of Logan. A reference to a company I’d never heard of.

Mercury South Holdings. And one more thing. Access to remaining documents secured in office vault.

Code linked to personal item. Gifted to V. I froze. Personal item.

Gifted to me. The necklace. The sapphire necklace he gave me just two nights before he died.

That wasn’t just a gift. It was a key. I touched my collarbone instinctively, though the necklace wasn’t there.

I had left it at home, tucked in its box because it felt too heavy to wear. Now it felt even heavier. What is Mercury South Holdings? I asked, still scanning the document.

Logan took a breath. One of his private firms. Not public.

Not on paper. He used it to move money. Internationally.

After my mom died, I started digging. There were transfers I couldn’t trace. Offshore accounts in my name I never opened.

I think he was trying to secure something. For you. For me.

For all of us. My mouth went dry. Why? Because he knew time was running out, Logan said quietly.

And because he didn’t trust the people he worked with. I looked up. What people? Logan’s face darkened.

He never said names. Only that if something happened to him, someone would come looking. For information.

For leverage. For what he left behind. I leaned back in the chair, my thoughts racing.

A second safe. A company I’d never heard of. A necklace that might hold a code.

And a man I had loved for 15 years, who’d built an entire world outside of me. You’re saying there’s more, I said. That the will, the files, the photos, all of it was just the beginning.

Logan nodded. I think he left things behind. Not just for us, but to protect us.

I stood slowly, my legs still unsteady, and looked around the room one last time. It no longer felt like a shrine. It felt like evidence and a warning.

I need to go home, I said, voice hoarse. I need that necklace. Can I come with you? Logan asked.

If you’ll let me. I paused, then nodded. Because whether I wanted to, or not, this was now our story.

I didn’t go home right away. I couldn’t. I needed space to think.

To breathe. So I called Claire. Within 20 minutes, I was on her couch.

Hands wrapped around a mug of tea I wasn’t drinking. The sapphire necklace sitting on the table between us like a live grenade. Claire didn’t ask questions.

She never did, not until I was ready. And when I finally told her everything about the garage, the photos, Logan, the will, she didn’t say, I told you so. She just whispered, I’m so sorry, and reached for my hand.

But I wasn’t ready to cry. I wasn’t ready to collapse. I needed answers.

I needed someone to blame. So I drove to Rachel’s condo. It was a newer building on the north end of town.

One of those luxury developments with underground parking, coded gates, and concierge service. Strange for someone who had always complained about money. As the elevator climbed, I could feel my anger rising with it.

She opened the door barefoot, wearing silk pajamas and a glass of wine in one hand. Her makeup was perfect. Her hair styled like she was expecting company.

Well, if it isn’t my grieving sister, she said with a smug smile. Come to inspect the widow’s inheritance. Cut the crap, Rachel, I snapped.

We need to talk. I pushed past her into the living room, where a framed photograph caught my eye. It was her and Thomas, laughing, toasting champagne.

The date stamped in the corner made my stomach flip. Five years ago. What the hell is this? I demanded, pointing at the frame.

Rachel sauntered over, taking a long sip of her wine. Oh, that? A company holiday party. You were too tired to come, remember? Thomas insisted I join him…