And now, somehow, their unfinished story had led us to the same room.
I looked at Diane.
She was crying silently.
I reached for her hand.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “But I think I’m beginning to understand something.”
“What?”
She looked at the photograph of the desk.
“Maybe we weren’t the first people who were supposed to meet.”
The attorney asked us to return the following week.
He had found another box in the archive, one that had been stored separately from the main project files.
Inside was a sealed envelope addressed to Diane.
Her name was written in Mark’s unmistakable handwriting.
The envelope had never been opened.
Richard explained that it had been found inside a folder labeled Walker Workshop—Personal Notes. There was no indication that Mark had intended it to be delivered after his death, but it had been preserved with the other project documents.
