foundation of lies?
“Anne?” Grace’s frantic voice cut through the phone speaker. “What was in the package?”
“A key,” I whispered, staring at the written text. “And a message. It says… it says your sister is at an address in Palm Springs. And it tells me to ask Miriam what my father knew.”
Silence stretched over the line before Grace gasped. “Your father?”
“I’m calling Miriam,” I said, my voice hardening. “Right now.”
I hung up without waiting for a reply and dialed Miriam’s direct line. It rang twice before she picked up.
“Anne? It’s late. Is everything alright?”
“Miriam,” I said, skipping any prelude. “What did my father have to do with Laurel House?”
The line went dead silent.
Not the silence of a bad connection, but the heavy, suffocating silence of someone whose breath had just been stolen.
“Where did you hear that name?” Miriam’s voice had lost
