His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the veneer, and I felt the weight of his warning settle like dust on the paper.
“Why?” I asked, the tremor in my voice barely louder than the ticking clock.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he was holding back something.
“Your husband’s secret could endanger the family,” he whispered, the words hanging in the stale air.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I clutched the envelope tighter, feeling the smoothness of the wax seal against my skin.
Outside, the late‑afternoon sun flickered through the blinds, casting long shadows that seemed to crawl toward me.
I wanted to tear it open then, to demand answers, but the lawyer’s stare was unyielding.
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