They did not know about the key.
They did not know that forty-eight hours after Daniel died, I had received a single text message from a blocked number.
Mrs. Hayes, do not sign anything until we speak. D. Brennan.
I deleted it immediately, afraid Vanessa might see it, but I remembered.
I pulled out my phone, an old flip phone because I never saw the point of upgrading, and stared at Mr. Brennan’s business card. It was nearly five o’clock. His office was probably closed.
I dialed anyway.
It rang three times, then a man’s voice said, “Brennan.”
“This is Margaret Hayes,” I said. My voice did not shake. “Daniel’s widow. I think we need to talk.”
There was a pause.
Then he said, “Mrs. Hayes. I’ve been waiting for your call. Can you come to my office tomorrow morning? Nine o’clock. It’s important. And please don’t tell anyone you’re coming.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Bring the key.”
He hung up.
I sat there in that motel room holding the phone, my heart pounding for the first time in five days.
I did not know what was in that box at Manhattan Trust. I did not know what Daniel had hidden from me or why.
