My Mother Invited Me Home for Christmas After 5 Years—But She Never Expected My Father’s Final Secret to Be Revealed

“What?”

I looked at June.

“You knew about that?”

June nodded.

“Your father told me about it two months before he died.”

Vivian’s eyes flashed.

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“No,” June said. “I was listening when your husband asked me to.”

That stopped everyone.

I stared at June.

“What did Dad tell you?”

June looked at me for a long moment.

Then she reached inside her purse.

She pulled out a small envelope.

It was yellowed with age.

My name was written on the front.

Mallory.

My hands started shaking.

“Why didn’t you give me this before?”

“Because your father made me promise not to.”

I swallowed.

“Until when?”

“Until you were ready.”

I stared at her.

“And now?”

“Now you’re ready.”

I took the envelope.

There was no stamp.

No address.

Just my name.

My father’s handwriting.

I knew it immediately.

The same handwriting that had appeared on Christmas cards every year.

The same handwriting that had signed permission slips when I was a child.

The same handwriting I had once thought I’d never see again.

I couldn’t open it.

Not yet.

Instead, I turned to Vivian.

“Did you know about this?”

She didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Brielle looked at her.

“Mom?”

Vivian’s voice became defensive.

“Your father was sick. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Harold suddenly spoke.

“Richard was thinking more clearly than anyone in this room.”

Vivian glared at him.

“You have no right.”

“I have every right.”

Harold removed another document from his folder.

“This is the original partnership agreement.”

He handed it to Corinne.

She opened it.

“This company was established in 2003.”

I frowned.

“What company?”

Harold looked at me.

“Hartley Development Group.”

Brielle stared at him.

“Dad never owned a development company.”

“He did.”

“My mother would know.”

Harold looked at Vivian.

“Would she?”

Vivian’s silence was deafening.

Corinne turned a page.

“Your father owned sixty percent.”

I looked at her.

“Sixty percent of what?”

“Of the company.”

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