Your stomach drops as you realize the coffee wasn’t left by Daniel.
It was left by this man.
Someone has been maintaining Daniel’s hidden life even after Daniel died.
You force your voice steady. “Daniel is dead,” you say.
The man’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t look shocked.
“I know,” he replies. “That’s why I’m here.”
He takes a step toward you.
Your body tenses, ready to run, but Lily appears behind you, trembling.
“Don’t,” Lily whispers, and the word is for him, not you.
The man’s gaze slides to her belly like it’s an object, not a human.
“Get back in the room,” he orders her, and your skin crawls at the way he speaks.
You step in front of Lily instinctively.
“No,” you say, and your voice comes out sharper than you expected.
The man’s eyes narrow.
“You don’t understand,” he says. “This isn’t your business.”
You laugh, one short, ugly sound.
“My husband built it,” you reply. “That makes it my business whether I like it or not.”
He watches you carefully, reassessing.
Then he says, quietly, “Daniel owed people. People who don’t like loose ends.”
The threat is wrapped in politeness, but it’s still a threat.
Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.
You remember the payments to Rothwell Legal.
You remember “keep Emily away.”
You remember the crash on Highway 41.
And for the first time, you allow a thought so dark it almost makes you sick:
What if the crash wasn’t an accident?
Your hands shake, but your mind sharpens.
You glance at the folder still in your grip.
The man’s eyes flick to it too.
He wants those papers.
You lift your chin.
“I’m leaving,” you say.
He steps slightly to block the front door without even trying to hide it.
“Not with that,” he says, nodding at the folder.
You hold the folder closer to your chest and feel a sudden, terrifying clarity.
This is why Daniel never let you come here.
Not because the floors were rotten.
Because the truth was.
