I frowned, looking at the worn leather.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Open it,” he said.

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly.

I took the heavy wallet from his hand.

The leather was cold and damp from the rain.

I opened the main compartment, past the credit cards and the cash.

In the back pocket, tucked behind a plastic sleeve, was a folded piece of yellowed paper.

It looked old, the edges frayed and worn.

I carefully pulled it out and unfolded it.

Ruby watched me, her head tilted in curiosity.

As my eyes scanned the faded ink, my breath caught in my throat.

It was a hand-written letter, dated twelve years ago.

It was signed by my late husband, Thomas.

And at the bottom was Charles Graves’ signature, next to a notary stamp.

“This is…” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“The original agreement,” Nathaniel said.

“The one your husband signed before he died.”

“The one that gave your family a thirty percent share in the Brindlewood development.”

“My father hid it so he wouldn’t have to pay you.”