Chapter 21 - THE LETTER IN THE MAILBOX
Three months after the trial began, I thought the worst part of my family's story was finally behind us.
I was wrong.
It happened on an ordinary Tuesday morning.
I was standing in the kitchen making coffee when Leah came running through the hallway.
"Dad!"
I turned.
She was holding an envelope.
Not a school envelope.
Not a birthday card.
A plain white envelope.
And there was something about her expression that immediately made me put down the coffee mug.
"What's wrong?"
She held it out.
"It was in the mailbox."
I took it.
My name was written across the front.
GRAHAM WHITMORE.
No return address.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
There were only three sentences.
You think Arthur was the end.
He wasn't.
Ask your father who paid for Leah's adoption.
My hands went cold.
Nah walked into the kitchen.
She saw my face.
"What is it?"
I handed her the letter.
She read it twice.
Then looked at me.
"Your father is still in custody."
"I know."
"So whoever sent this knows about the case."
I nodded.
Leah was watching us.
I folded the paper immediately.
"Sweetheart, go upstairs for me."
"But—"
"Please."
She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
As soon as she disappeared upstairs, Nah lowered her voice.
"You don't think this is over, do you?"
"No."
I stared at the envelope.
The handwriting looked strangely familiar.
Not because I had seen it recently.
Because I had seen it years ago.
I walked into my office and opened the old file from the adoption agency.
There were dozens of documents inside.
Most had already been given to investigators.
But one page had never made sense.
The payment record.
I had always assumed Arthur had arranged the money.
But the letter had changed one thing.
The question wasn't who controlled the adoption.
The question was:
Who paid for it?
I called the adoption agency.
The woman on the phone searched the old records.
Then she became quiet.
"What?"
"Mr. Whitmore..."
"Yes?"
"There is something unusual here."
"What?"
"The original payment wasn't made by your family."
My heart stopped.
"Who made it?"
She hesitated.
"An organization."
"What organization?"
She read the name slowly.
"The Whitmore Children's Foundation."
I closed my eyes.
Arthur's foundation.
But Arthur had been arrested.
The foundation's accounts had been frozen.
So why had someone just contacted me?
I asked for the payment date.
The woman gave it to me.
It was two weeks after Leah had been born.
I stared at the calendar.
Then I noticed something else.
The payment had not been made once.
It had been made every month.
For nine years.
Nine years.
Someone had been paying to keep Leah's adoption active.
I whispered:
"Who is still paying?"
The woman checked.
Then her voice changed.
"Mr. Whitmore..."
"What?"
"The payments haven't stopped."
I stood completely still.
"What do you mean?"
"The latest payment was made yesterday."
My blood ran cold.
Yesterday.
Someone was still paying for my daughter.
May you like
And whoever they were...
They knew exactly where we lived.
