Chapter 2: The Envelope With Her Name On It
The wealthy woman didn't move toward Emily.
She turned her back to the garden and spoke in a low, controlled voice — the kind people use when they're trying not to panic in public.
"You need to leave.
Both of you."
The boy didn't flinch.
"We're not leaving until she gets what you took from her."
The woman's jaw tightened.
"I don't know what she's told you, but whatever it is—"
"She hasn't told me anything," the boy said.
"I found the documents myself."
That stopped her.
For the first time, the composure cracked — just slightly.
Her eyes moved to the boy's jacket pocket.
"What documents?"
He reached in slowly and pulled out a folded envelope.
It was old.
The edges were worn soft.
The return address had been torn off — but the name on the front was still clear.
It wasn't Emily's name.
It was hers.
The wealthy woman stared at it like she was looking at something she had buried with her own hands thirty years ago.
Behind her, the other guests had begun to notice.
Quiet conversations were stopping.
Eyes were drifting toward them.
Emily had reached the edge of the garden now.
She wasn't rushing.
She walked slowly, like someone who had waited a very long time and had nothing left to fear.
The wealthy woman whispered, "Where did you find that?"
The boy looked at her steadily.
"In the house you made sure she could never go back to."
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What's inside that envelope — and what did this woman do to Emily thirty years ago?
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The full truth is darker than anyone at that party expected.
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