Chapter 2 - The Letter Mark Never Wanted Me to ReadI did not open Mark’s envelope in the hospital parking lot.
I wanted to.
Every part of me wanted to tear it apart with my bare hands.
But something in Dr. Harris’s expression stopped me.
Fear.
Not sadness.
Not the careful sympathy doctors learn to give grieving families.
Fear.
“Why would Mark suspect Ethan?” I asked.
Nathan glanced toward the hospital entrance.
“We shouldn’t talk here.”
That sentence frightened me more than anything else.
Nathan escorted me back inside through a side entrance and led me into a consultation room near the cardiology wing.
He closed the door.
Then locked it.
I noticed.
“You locked the door.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband asked me to take certain precautions.”
I slowly lowered myself into a chair.
My belly pressed against the edge of the table.
“Start talking.”
Nathan sat across from me.
“About seven weeks ago, Mark asked me to rerun some toxicology panels.”
“Toxicology?”
“He had symptoms that didn’t fit the progression we expected.”
“What symptoms?”
“Intermittent improvement followed by sudden crashes. Unusual metabolic readings. Liver abnormalities inconsistent with the primary disease.”
I stared at him.
“You told us the disease was causing all of that.”
“We believed it was.”
“And now?”
Nathan hesitated.
“Now I’m not sure.”
My fingers tightened around the brown envelope.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mark asked me not to.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“So my dying husband was conducting his own investigation while everyone treated me like the fragile pregnant widow?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It feels exactly like that.”
Nathan lowered his eyes.
“Mark knew you were already under enormous stress.”
“That wasn’t his decision.”
“No.”
“Then why did you agree?”
“Because at first, we had nothing.”
I looked at him.
“And later?”
Nathan nodded toward the envelope.
“That’s what he left you.”
My hands trembled as I opened it.
The first thing inside was a letter.
Eight pages.
Mark’s handwriting.
I recognized the slant immediately.
I pressed the paper to my mouth.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Then I began reading.
Em,
If you’re reading this, then Nathan kept his promise, which means I’m gone.
My vision blurred.
I wiped my eyes and continued.
Before anything else, I need you to know three things.
I loved you.
I loved our daughter before I ever met her.
And everything I did during these last weeks was because I needed both of you safe.
I stopped.
Nathan remained silent.
I read on.
Mark explained that shortly after his diagnosis, he noticed something strange.
Whenever Ethan visited, Mark became violently ill within hours.
At first, he dismissed it.
Then Ethan began bringing him a particular “immune support” drink.
It came in sealed-looking glass bottles.
Ethan claimed a private nutritional clinic recommended it.
Mark drank them because Ethan was his younger brother.
Because Mark trusted him.
Until one night, Mark poured half of one bottle into a sample container.
He asked Nathan to test it.
The results had shown traces of an industrial compound not listed on the label.
Not enough for an immediate fatal overdose.
But repeated exposure could cause neurological symptoms.
Kidney damage.
Liver damage.
Progressive weakness.
I stopped reading.
“No.”
Nathan said nothing.
“This is insane.”
“I wish it were.”
“Ethan loved Mark.”
Nathan’s expression didn’t change.
“They grew up together.”
“I know.”
“He sat beside him during chemotherapy.”
“I know.”
“He cried when we got the diagnosis.”
“I know.”
I slammed the letter on the table.
“Then why?”
“Keep reading.”
I hated him for saying that.
I hated Mark for leaving me this puzzle.
I hated the world for continuing to exist after 4:17 that morning.
But I kept reading.
Mark had hired a private investigator.
That explained three charges I had seen on our joint account and assumed were consulting expenses.
The investigator had discovered Ethan was drowning in debt.
More than $600,000.
Sports gambling.
Failed investments.
Loans.
And two months before Mark became sick, someone had taken out a life insurance policy.
Not on Ethan.
On Mark.
I looked at Nathan.
“Mark already had life insurance.”
“This was separate.”
“How much?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Four million dollars.”
I stared at him.
“Who was the beneficiary?”
“Keep reading.”
My stomach twisted.
I forced my eyes back onto Mark’s handwriting.
The policy had been purchased through a business entity I did not recognize.
Dawson Strategic Holdings.
Mark had once owned forty-nine percent of it.
Ethan owned fifty-one.
The company had been dormant for years.
But according to the investigator, Ethan had reactivated it.
And somehow, using an old shareholder agreement, Mark’s death would trigger a buyout provision.
Four million from insurance.
Plus Mark’s ownership interest.
Plus access to a commercial property portfolio worth nearly eleven million.
My hands went numb.
Then I reached the final page.
Mark had written:
There’s one more thing, Em.
This is the part I couldn’t risk telling you.
Ethan knows I became suspicious.
I stopped breathing.
The next line was underlined twice.
And I don’t think I was his only target.
I looked down at my belly.
Our daughter moved beneath my hand.
“Dear God.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“What?”
I kept reading.
Three weeks ago, Ethan asked whether your pregnancy had changed my estate plan.
Two days later, someone entered our house while you were sleeping.
Nothing was stolen.
But the prenatal vitamins beside your bed had been replaced.
A ringing started in my ears.
“No.”
Nathan stood.
“Emily?”
I was already digging through my purse.
I carried the vitamins everywhere.
I found the small white container.
Nathan’s face changed.
“Don’t take another one.”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
He reached for his phone.
I rose too quickly.
Pain shot through my abdomen.
Then came a sensation that terrified every pregnant woman.
Warm liquid.
I looked down.
My pants were wet.
Nathan stared.
My water had broken.
Three weeks early.
And as the first contraction tore through me, my phone began ringing.
May you like
The name on the screen was:
ETHAN.
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