Chapter 8 - THE LETTER MICHAEL LEFT WITH RICHARD
I hated Grant after that.
I also hated myself for wanting a simple villain.
Martin reminded me:
“We still don’t know whether Grant personally reviewed Michael’s application.”
Right.
Systems can harm people without one man reading one name.
So I waited.
Investigators did their work.
Then I returned to safe-deposit box 311.
One envelope remained.
FOR HANNAH — FROM MICHAEL.
I almost could not open it.
Michael had written it during his final month.
Han,
If Richard ever gives you this, I’m gone and something strange has happened.
Accurate.
Then:
He’s the old guy with the Jaguar who complains about labor rates and then tips too much.
I laughed through tears.
Michael wrote that Richard had helped him understand charitable assistance.
He also explained why he had never told me they knew each other.
You already hate needing help.
If I told you a rich man was helping, you’d spend more energy paying him back than staying alive with me.
Pain hit hard.
Then:
If he ever offers you work, take the job if it’s good work.
Do not let pride make Emily hungry.
I stopped reading.
Michael had known me.
Then came the line that changed everything:
But do not marry the old man.
I laughed so loudly Martin jumped.
Michael continued:
I’m kidding.
Mostly.
If some impossible future puts you with someone kind, do not let my memory turn into a prison.
Love me.
Then keep living.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
For five years of marriage to Richard, part of me had carried guilt.
Not because I did not care for Richard.
I did.
Deeply.
Differently.
But some nights I still felt like loving him betrayed Michael.
Michael had answered that fear before I even knew I would have it.
Then the final page:
Emily should grow up believing people can become family more than once.
That one broke me.
I brought the letter home.
Emily asked why I was crying.
“Your daddy wrote me something.”
“Daddy Michael?”
“Yes.”
She knew him through photographs and stories.
“Did he know Grandpa Richard?”
“A little.”
She smiled as if the universe had suddenly become properly organized.
“Then they can be friends in heaven.”
I did not correct theology at bedtime.
Then Martin called.
The auditors had completed their preliminary findings.
Northpoint-linked entities had received more than $9 million across housing, medical, and maintenance programs.
At least $5.7 million lacked adequate support.
Grant denied stealing.
He blamed a former controller.
A dead man.
Convenient.
But one bank account tied everything together.
Holloway Strategic Reserve.
Grant controlled it.
Transfers from Northpoint reached that account.
Then flowed to a private real-estate partnership.
One of the investors in that partnership was the same development consortium trying to buy Homeward Trust’s housing properties.
May you like
Grant had not merely been skimming.
He had a financial interest in selling the buildings Richard fought to preserve.
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