valued at approximately sixty-four million dollars.”
Lydia laughed once, because the alternative was fainting.
“I’m standing outside a bakery with a soaked suitcase. I think you have the wrong Lydia.”
“I do not. He named you specifically, including your current legal name.”
She looked down at her trembling hand over her stomach.
“Why?”
“Because he trusted you. And because there is a condition.”
Of course there was. Thomas had always believed truth should be uncovered, not handed over.
“What condition?”
“You must return to the house on Briar Key within forty-eight hours,” Mr. Keene said, “and unlock the blue nursery door. You must enter that room alone first. Once you do, the estate transfers immediately.”
Lydia closed her eyes.
The Briar Key house rose in her memory: white columns, salt wind, wild roses, and the narrow upstairs room Thomas had jokingly called the nursery before they had even unpacked their wedding dishes. She had told him not to rush their life. He had kissed her hand and said time would wait for them.
Time had not waited.
“What is in the room?” she asked.
“I have not seen it. Those were his instructions.”
“Why now?”
Mr. Keene exhaled softly. “Because he believed there would come a morning when you would need proof more than money.”
Lydia opened her eyes.
Across the wet street, a black sedan slowed near the curb.
“Mrs. Vale,” the attorney continued, “a driver named Grace Holloway is approaching your location. She worked for Thomas for many years. You may trust her.”
The sedan stopped.
The rear door opened, and an older woman in a navy raincoat stepped out with a wide black umbrella. She had silver hair pinned at the nape of her neck and the composed face of someone who had survived many emergencies by refusing to panic.
She looked directly at Lydia.
“Mrs. Maren,” she said. “Come out of the rain.”
Something inside Lydia broke at the kindness in her voice.
Grace took the suitcase before Lydia could protest and guided her into the back seat. There was a wool blanket waiting on the leather seat, along with a bottle of water, a paper bag from a pharmacy, and a cream envelope sealed with red wax.
Lydia recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her name.
Written by Thomas.
Her chest tightened so hard she could barely breathe.
“He wrote this?”
Grace glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes. He asked that you not open it until you reach Briar Key.”
The sedan pulled away.
Lydia turned instinctively toward the street they had come from. Far down the block, beyond the wash of rain, Adrian’s townhouse door opened.
He stood on the porch in his shirt sleeves, phone pressed to his ear.
His face was not angry now.
It was frightened.
Grace noticed Lydia watching him.
“We should avoid main roads for the first few miles,” Grace said.
Lydia looked at her sharply. “Why?”
Grace kept her eyes forward. “Because Mr. Vale will realize soon that you are not as alone as he intended.”
The words settled in the car like cold smoke.
“You know Adrian?”
“I know of him.”
“From Thomas?”
Grace did not answer quickly enough.
“Tell me,” Lydia said.
The older woman turned onto a side street lined with dripping oaks.
“Thomas believed
