none of them.
Daniel moved toward the desk and examined the envelope.
“There’s no address,” he said. “No signature.”
“Maybe it’s from Victor.”
“Maybe.”
“You said he knew about the property.”
“And the trust.”
“Then he could have placed it here.”
Daniel looked at me carefully.
“Do you want to leave?”
I glanced at the empty bed.
For years, I had imagined my mother as someone who had appeared in my life from nowhere, carrying a small suitcase and a tired smile. She had never spoken about the years before
