Chapter 10 - The Letters He Hid
There were twenty-three letters.
Birthday cards.
Christmas cards.
A note after my mother’s memorial anniversary.
A letter Dad sent after hearing through a former classmate that I was pregnant.
David had intercepted all of them.
Some were still sealed.
My hands shook as I opened the pregnancy letter.
Anna,
I understand you may not want me in your life.
I will respect that.
But becoming a parent changes old distances.
If you ever want to talk, call me.
If you never do, I will still be here.
Love,
Dad.
I had spent years believing my father had chosen pride over reconciliation.
David had made sure I believed it.
Rachel sat quietly across from me.
Detective Ruiz photographed every envelope.
The postmarks showed they had been delivered to houses where David and I lived.
One envelope had been opened.
Inside, my father mentioned updating my mother’s trust.
David had underlined the word trust.
That was how his financial search began.
It was not curiosity.
It was theft.
Interference.
Control.
And evidence.
When we returned home that evening, Dad was reading in the study.
I placed the box on his desk.
He recognized the handwriting before I spoke.
His face collapsed.
“You never got them.”
I shook my head.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Dad stood.
I crossed the room first.
He held me like he had when I was six years old and terrified of thunderstorms.
“I thought you stopped loving me.”
His arms tightened.
“Never.”
I cried against his shoulder.
“I should have called.”
“So should I.”
We stayed there until my breathing slowed.
Then he pulled back.
“Anna, there is something you need to know.”
The seriousness in his voice frightened me.
“What?”
“David contacted my chambers six months ago.”
I stared at him.
“He what?”
“He requested a private meeting.”
“Why?”
“He claimed he represented a client with a confidential constitutional matter.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No.”
“My staff declined.”
Dad looked toward the box.
“But now I wonder whether he already suspected who you were.”
The room went cold.
David had acted shocked on Christmas night.
Maybe part of that shock was real.
But perhaps he had been closer to the truth than any of us realized.
Rachel called ten minutes later.
She had found something in David’s emails.
A draft message.
Never sent.
Addressed to my father.
May you like
It contained only one line.
We should discuss what your daughter is worth.
