I turned my phone on the next morning at my sister’s kitchen table, and it shook in my hand for a full minute. Forty-one missed calls. Brooke had called twelve times, and Judith nine. Gordon had not called once, which frightened me more than anything else. I played the newest voicemail, from Judith.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Diane, do not come back to Georgia. Gordon opened the envelope, and he did not look scared. He looked relieved. He took the flash drive, burned the report in the grill, and drove away before the process server arrived.” Then she took a shaky breath. “He said you left the real copy in your safe deposit box, and he already has the key.” The message ended. Seconds later, my phone buzzed with an alert from my bank.
