Chapter 9: The Envelope
I stood on the doorstep and looked at it for a moment before I picked it up.
Plain white.
My first name only, no surname, in careful block letters.
I turned it over.
No return address.
No marking of any kind.
I took it inside, set my bag down, and opened it at the kitchen table.
Inside was a single folded sheet of paper.
And a photograph.
The photograph was printed on ordinary copy paper, slightly blurry, the kind of thing taken on a phone from a distance.
It showed Nathan and a man I didn't recognize sitting at a table in what looked like a pub or restaurant.
Between them on the table was a folder.
Nathan had his hand on it.
The date and time were printed in the corner.
The photo was from eleven months ago.
The note said:
*He met with a property developer.
Three times that I know of.
The man in the photo is called Gerard Fitch.
Look him up.
Nathan told him the house would be available within the year.
He said the owner was being dealt with.*
*I don't know you.
But I know what was being planned.
I thought you should.*
No signature.
I read it twice.
Then I photographed the note and the photograph with my phone and sent both to Patricia Hale with a message: *This was on my doorstep when I got home.
Anonymous.
Is this useful?*
She replied within ten minutes.
*Very.
Don't touch the originals more than necessary.
I'll call you tomorrow morning.*
I set the paper and photograph inside a clean plastic folder and put them in the drawer where I kept important documents.
Then I sat at the table and looked at the words again in my mind.
*The owner was being dealt with.*
Not *the marriage is ending.* Not *my wife and I are separating.* Not even *we're selling the house.*
*The owner was being dealt with.*
I thought about the trip I'd never planned.
The papers he'd intended to serve while I was away.
The story he'd told Lucas.
The case he'd been building for eighteen months.
He hadn't been planning a divorce.
He'd been planning a removal.
My phone rang.
Carol.
"How did it go with the solicitor?" she asked.
"Well.
She's good." I paused.
"Carol, did Nathan ever mention anyone called Gerard Fitch to you?"
A short silence.
"No.
Why?"
"Someone left an anonymous note on my doorstep.
Nathan met with a property developer.
Multiple times.
Told him the house would be available."
Carol was quiet for a moment.
"He wasn't just planning to divorce you," she said slowly.
"No."
"He was planning to profit."
"Yes."
Another silence.
"Who left the note?" Carol asked.
"I don't know."
"Someone who knows him.
Someone who was close enough to know the details and decided at some point that it had gone too far." She paused.
"Or someone who wanted something in return."
I hadn't thought of that.
"Be careful," Carol said.
"Whoever it is, you don't know their motive.
Use the information.
But don't trust the source."
"Patricia said the same thing, essentially."
"Patricia sounds sensible."
I almost smiled.
"She is."
After I hung up, I sat quietly for a few minutes.
Then I got up, picked up my keys, and drove to collect Lucas from school.
He ran out of the gate the way he always did, backpack bouncing, shouting my name before he'd even reached me.
I crouched down and caught him.
"Good day?" I asked.
"We did volcanoes," he said.
"Mine erupted the most."
"Of course it did."
He took my hand and we walked to the car.
Whatever came next — the solicitor, the developer, the anonymous note, Nathan — none of it touched this.
May you like
This was still intact.
I held onto that.
