Serena looked confused.
“Who was Margaret in 1998?”
“I have no idea.”
Then I noticed something.
The paper wasn’t seven years old.
There was a faint date stamped at the bottom.
March 14, 2019.
My grandmother had written this only months before she died.
She had known Margaret existed.
She had known the Mercers.
And somehow, she had known they might come after my condo.
But why?
I searched the remaining documents.
That’s when I found a photograph.
My grandmother stood beside three people.
One was my grandfather.
The second was a much younger Malcolm Voss.
And the third was Margaret.
Young.
Maybe twenty-five.
On the back of the photograph were four words:
Savannah — 1998. Never forget.
Serena stared at it.
“Claire…”
“I know.”
Before we could say anything else, my phone rang.
Evan.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
“What?”
His voice was strained.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
