Behind a false panel near the water heater, they found a fireproof safe.
Inside were documents, cash, passports, blank forms, old photographs, and a small red notebook filled with Linda’s handwriting.
Sarah called it “the motherlode,” then apologized for the pun.
The notebook was worse than any single document.
It contained names.
Mine. Diane’s. Jenna’s. Alina’s. Others.
Beside each name were notes.
Assets.
Weaknesses.
Family distance.
Debt.
Career pressure.
Medical history.
No children.
Trust issues.
Pride.
That word appeared beside my name.
Pride.
Linda had underlined it twice.
I stared at the copy until the letters blurred.
“She studied us,” I said.
Sarah sat across from me at her office conference table. Rain streaked the windows behind her, turning the city into gray watercolor.
“Yes.”
“Like targets.”
“Yes.”
I touched the page lightly, careful not to wrinkle it. “What did she write beside Ryan?”
Sarah hesitated.
