against my chest.
Then my phone vibrated.
An email had arrived from our attorney.
The subject line read:
“Final archived document concerning Daniel Whitmore.”
Attached was an old handwritten instruction concerning the preservation of biological samples.
At the bottom, Daniel had written:
“If my daughters ever seek the truth, make sure they receive the records.”
I stared at the words.
Emily approached.
“What is it?”
I showed her the document.
She read it twice.
Neither of us spoke.
The note suggested our father had anticipated that we might someday investigate
