“Arthur was my father’s brother,” I said, my heart sinking. “He died in a boating accident twenty-five years ago.”

“These are not standard business investments,” Julian murmured, pointing to the margins.

Next to a payment of fifty thousand dollars, Marjorie had written: *For the silence regarding the St. Jude records.*

My throat went dry.

“St. Jude’s was the private clinic where Graham was born,” I said.

I turned the page, my fingers trembling as I reached for a yellowed envelope tucked between the sheets.

I pulled out a letter, the paper fragile and dry.

It was a letter from Marjorie to my grandmother, dated just months after Graham’s birth.

*If you tell my husband the truth about the boy’s father, I will ruin this family’s name,* the letter read.

*I have the receipts from Arthur’s offshore accounts. The authorities would be very interested.*

I gasped, holding the letter closer to the light.

“She was blackmailing them,” I said, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“She was blackmailing your entire family to keep a secret,” Julian agreed.

“But what secret?”