Chapter 2: The Envelope With His Name On It
Vincent turned the key over slowly in his palm and looked straight at Arthur.
Vincent: She said you searched the estate.
Every room.
For weeks.
Why?
Arthur's jaw tightened.
He glanced toward the diner door, then back at Vincent.
Arthur: I was settling your father's affairs.
That is my job.
Vincent: You were looking for this.
Arthur said nothing.
Clara leaned forward across the counter, her voice dropping low.
Clara: Your mother hid that key the night I drove her out of the city.
She made me promise to find you one day and put it in your hands.
Not his.
Arthur's composure cracked for just a second.
His eyes moved to the key with something that looked less like confusion and more like fear.
Vincent: What does it open, Arthur?
Arthur: Vincent, I have served your family for forty years—
Vincent: What.
Does.
It.
Open.
The diner had gone completely quiet.
The cook had stopped moving behind the kitchen window.
Two other customers sat very still.
Clara reached back into her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, aged yellow at the edges.
Clara: She left this with the key.
I never opened it.
It has your name on it.
Vincent looked down at the envelope.
Written in faded ink, in handwriting he had never seen before, were the words:
*For my son.
Open this when you are ready to know the truth.*
May you like
Arthur took one step toward the counter.
Vincent raised his hand and stopped him cold.
