Page 102 of Veil of Lies

The two sheets of white paper felt thin and unsubstantial in my hand. Dad’s scrawl covered both sides of the paper, dense and difficult to read.

His handwriting had always been terrible, but it appeared to have gotten worse. In several places, the ink was smudged with water marks, but nothing appeared to have been redacted.

I worked my way through the letter. He was scared. He’d heard about my ‘accident’ and he hoped I was OK. He talked about Mom and how much he loved her, how much he missed her, and how he regretted the fact I hadn’t had the chance to know her.

By the time I reached the last page, I was crying.

Tears dripped down my face. All of the emotion I’d bottled up in recent weeks bubbled up to the surface, the dam I’d put in place to protect myself breeched. It felt cathartic in a way.

Some of the pressure inside my head and heart eased, leaving me feeling calmer and more in control.

None of my problems had disappeared, exactly, but nothing seemed quite as bleak. Dad loved me. I knew that. Always had. But his arrest and all the circus surrounding the collapse of his company had knocked my faith in him.

It had made me wonder whether I really knew the man who called himself my father.

Surely the man who’d taught me Morse Code, how to fish, and collected pebbles with me at the beach wasn’t capable of defrauding hundreds of people, some of whom lost everything?

I still didn’t know how or why Dad had ended up in prison, charged with Investment Adviser Fraud, among other things, but something told me the picture wasn’t as black and white as the FBI and media had painted.

In the last paragraph of the letter, Dad urged me to visit Mom’s grave. I frowned. Why would he do that? I read on.

Your mom’s birthday is soon, please put some violets on her grave. They were her favorite flower. There is a small urn for flowers, remove the dead ones and fill it with fresh violets for her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I think of her all the time. She would be so proud of you and how strong you are.

I frowned. There were two things wrong with that paragraph.

First, Mom’s birthday wasn’t soon. It was three months ago.

Second, Mom’s favorite flower was the Forget Me Not. Dad had told me many times and it was why he decorated my bedroom with Forget Me Not wallpaper when I was a kid.

Was he trying to tell me something?

The apartment door swung open and Harley strode in, chatting to Quinn. They both frowned when they saw my tear-stained face.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Harley dumped his bag and rushed over. His delicious scent flooded my nose as he pulled me into his arms. “Has someone upset you? I can beat them up if you want.”

Quinn snorted. “And risk damaging your pretty-boy face? I think not, asshole.”

Harley ignored him. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. I’m worried!”

I sniffed and wiped my face. “It’s fine. I had a letter from Dad and it made me sad is all.”

“Thank God.” He sighed dramatically. “You had me panicking there!”

I smothered a laugh. “Sorry.”

“Is he OK?” Quinn asked in a gentle voice. They both knew how scared I was about Dad’s condition in prison.

“I…I think so, but his letter is a bit weird.”

“In what way?” Harley stroked my leg, making me lose my chain of thought for a moment.

“He’s telling me to visit Mom’s grave because it’s her birthday soon, but it was three months ago, which he knows. And he says to put violets in the urn there because they are her favorite flower. But they’re not her favorite. He knows she loved Forget Me Nots.”

“Maybe it’s a hidden message?” Quinn suggested.

I pondered his words. Dad had always liked puzzles. He’d spent hours cracking codes and numerical challenges when I was a kid. It made sense he’d try to tell me something important in a way the prison authorities wouldn’t figure out.

After all, he knew any letter he sent or phone call he made would be monitored. And he also knew he couldn’t pass any messages on via Michael, if what he said about not trusting Michael was true.

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