Chapter 31 - The Unopened Letter
It was a quiet Sunday evening in Concord, with soft rain falling over the wide, green lawns of the Vance estate.
Mark sat in his study reviewing foundation grant applications while Lily drew pictures at her small wooden desk near the window.
A priority diplomatic courier van pulled up to the front gate, leaving a thick leather-bound package on the porch table.
Marcus retrieved the package, scanning it through portable explosive detectors before bringing it into Mark's private study.
Inside lay an antique leather binder wrapped in oiled silk, sent from an untraceable private mailbox in Oxford, England.
Mark carefully unrolled the silk, finding an original 2026 photograph of a woman sitting on a bench in a quiet English garden.
Mark's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in absolute, terrifying shock as he stared at the woman's face.
It was Clara—his late wife who had supposedly died in a fatal car crash three years ago.
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Tucked behind the photograph was a handwritten letter written in Clara's unmistakable cursive handwriting, dated just three days ago:
"Mark, I never died in that crash. They forced me to fake my death to protect you and Lily from the Council—and now, they know where I am."
