Chapter 1 - THE CONTENTS OF THE SATCHEL
The attorney’s words hung in the chilly autumn air. “She chose you for a purpose.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, Mr. Harrison tipped his fedora, turned on his heel, and walked away through the cemetery, leaving me entirely alone with Eleanor’s weathered leather satchel.
I drove back to my tiny, one-bedroom apartment in a daze. I placed the bag on my kitchen table. For months, I had watched Eleanor fiercely guard this piece of worn leather. My hands trembled as I undid the heavy brass buckles.
The bag smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Inside, there were no clothes. No knitting needles. No crossword puzzles.
There were three items: a thick, leather-bound ledger, a heavy, antique safety deposit key, and a sealed envelope with my name written in Eleanor’s elegant, shaky handwriting.
I tore open the envelope.
My dearest Leo, the letter began. If you are reading this, I am gone, and you are officially my husband. I lied to you. I am not just a lonely old woman. My maiden name is Eleanor Sterling. My late husband founded Sterling Real Estate, a multi-billion-dollar empire in Chicago. When he died, his son from his first marriage—my stepson, Victor—took over.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Sterling Real Estate owned half the city.
May you like
Victor is a monster, Leo, the letter continued. He embezzled funds, ruined lives, and when my biological son discovered it, Victor had him killed in a staged car accident. I knew I was next. So, I transferred the absolute core of the company’s wealth into an untraceable trust, took a fake name, and hid in the nursing home. Victor thinks the money is lost. But the ledger contains the proof of his murders. The key opens the vault to the wealth. And because you are legally my husband, everything I hid now belongs entirely to you. Destroy him for me.
I dropped the letter. I wasn't just a widower. I was a weapon.
