Part 2Inheriting Her Secrets And Her Daughter

The moment the key turned in the lock, the door was pulled open from the inside.

A thick cloud of incense and lilies hit me. The living room had been stripped of its furniture to make room for a makeshift shrine. In the center hung a black-and-white photo of Susie, surrounded by white roses.

A man in a tailored black suit stood in the foyer. His eyes were red and puffy, but his hair was perfectly styled. He glared at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into his yard.

"What are you doing here?"

Justin Shaw. The voice from the phone two years ago.

I didn't answer. I brushed past him. The room was full—distant relatives in black, business associates in expensive watches, and in the corner, a middle-aged couple. The woman was sobbing into a tissue; the man was staring at nothing, a dead cigarette in his hand.

Susie’s parents. I’d met them once, three years ago, at a Thanksgiving dinner that felt like a lifetime ago.

"I asked you a question!" Justin followed me, his voice rising. "Susie’s gone. You don't get to show up now and play the grieving ex. Isn't the inheritance enough for you?"

The room went dead silent. Every head turned.

I set the key down on the entry table. "I’m here for something she left me."

"Left you?" Justin let out a sharp, jagged laugh. His eyes were wild. "Nothing here is yours. You broke up two years ago! Two years! Do you have any idea what her life was like? Do you know—" He choked up, glancing at the photo. "The night she died, she was on her way to see me."

A murmur went through the crowd.

Susie’s mother stood up and grabbed Justin’s hand. "Justin, don't waste your breath on him. Susie was too kind for her own good. She left him a little something out of pity. Just think of it as a parting gift to a beggar."

I looked at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Ma'am," I said quietly. "Your daughter is barely cold, and you're already trying to play the saint with her money?"

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. "How dare you!"

"I’m just here for the truth." I walked toward the stairs. "The lawyer gave me the key. Susie left me something. I’m taking it and leaving."

"Stop right there!" Justin lunged for my arm. "You’re not welcome here! Get out!"

He was close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was a brand Susie had bought for me once. I’d told her it was too heavy, and she promised to get me something lighter next time.

She never did. She just got a different man.

"Justin," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "Your hair is out of place."

He instinctively reached up to touch his head. I used the second of distraction to slip past him and head up the stairs.

The master bedroom door was open—a big bed, a walk-in closet, a framed photo of Justin on the nightstand. I kept walking.

The door at the end of the hall was shut. I turned the knob.

The room was small. A twin bed, a desk, a bookshelf. A computer sat on the desk, a thin layer of dust on the monitor. This was Susie’s sanctuary. When she used to stay at my place, she’d talk about having her own "think tank"—a room where she could shut the world out.

I went to the desk and pulled the top drawer.

Right on top was a photograph.

It was us. Three years ago, at the coast. She’d dragged a stranger over to take it, saying we needed "official evidence" for our future wedding. In the photo, she’s beaming, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and I’m leaning into her, looking resigned but happy.

Under the photo was a thick, bulging envelope.

Before I could touch it, a scream erupted from downstairs.

"Junie! Junie, stop!"

Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. I turned as a small figure appeared in the doorway.

She was five, maybe six. Thin. Her bangs were too long, obscuring half her brow. She wore a navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing pale, spindly wrists. She looked at me with an intensity no child should have.

"Are you Ben?" she asked.

I slowly put the envelope down. "Do I know you?"

She didn't answer. She walked into the room and stood right in front of me, forcing me to look up.

"My mom said if she died, I was supposed to go with you."