It felt like hours had passed when Jonah called out, “Grandma?”
He was standing near the far wall, holding a folder.
I took it from him and opened it under the bare pull-chain light.
A chill ran down my spine.
“This is it. This is why they wanted to run.”
“There has to be more.”
The folder was full of bills, statements, and final notices. I had gone through everything after they died — or at least everything I had access to.
None of this had been there. My son must’ve tried to bury it before they ran.
“They were in trouble,” I said.
At the back of the folder was one handwritten sheet on lined paper.
A bank account number and routing information.
And beneath it, in Laura’s neat writing: Don’t touch anything else.
Aaron, who’d been looking at the documents over my shoulder, pointed at the page. “Does that mean there’s more money?”
