The corners were bent, and a dark water stain ran along the bottom edge where the rain had soaked through.

He held it out toward the center of the table, his hand surprisingly steady.

“I brought the rest of the file, Grace,” Aaron said, looking directly into my eyes.

The damp paper smelled of rain and old basement storage.

No one moved for three long seconds.

The silver candelabra in the center of the table flickered as a draft swept through the open glass doors behind Aaron.

Colonel Whitaker stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“Aaron, you are trespassing,” the Colonel said, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Call the police, then,” Aaron replied.

He slid the envelope across the polished mahogany.

It left a smear of dirty water on the wood, right next to Cassandra’s untouched wine glass.

Cassandra reached out as if to block it, but her hand stopped inches away from the wet paper.

“Ethan, please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Make him leave.”

Ethan looked at the envelope, then at me.

His face was pale, his eyes darting between his fiancée and his sister.