“He found out that someone had been stealing money from a company he worked for. Millions.”
“Who?”
“He never told me the name.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I saw what he found.”
She touched the metal box.
“Everything was inside this.”
I looked at it.
“Why is it here?”
“Because I was arrested for something I didn’t do.”
The corridor suddenly seemed colder.
“What were you arrested for?”
“Murder.”
I stared at her.
“Whose?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Your father’s.”
I couldn’t speak.
“My father died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“And you were arrested for killing him?”
“No.”
Her voice became barely audible.
“I was arrested eleven years after his death.”
I frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Before I could ask another question, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Mack.
She walked past us slowly.
She didn’t say anything.
But she looked at Evelyn.
Then at me.
Then she smiled.
That night I couldn’t sleep.
Around two in the morning, I heard something scrape beneath my cell door.
I got out of bed.
A small envelope lay on the floor.
No name.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed my father standing outside a warehouse.
