Mr. Harrison looked at me for several seconds before finally speaking.
“I need you to marry me.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
One of the two strangers lowered his eyes, almost as if he was embarrassed to be there.
Mr. Harrison opened the velvet box.
“The ring isn’t for me,” he said.
I took a step backward.
“Then who is it for?”
He pointed toward the bedroom door.
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“That’s why you’re here.”
I didn’t understand.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick brown envelope.
“I found this in an old company file three weeks ago. Your father worked for my company before you did.”
My hands began to shake.
“My father never worked for you.”
“He did.”
He handed me the envelope.
Inside were photographs, bank statements, and several handwritten letters.
I recognized my father’s handwriting immediately.
One letter was dated two days before his death.
I read the first line.
“If anything happens to me, make sure Emma never discovers what I did.”
I looked up.
“What did he do?”
Mr. Harrison didn’t answer.
Instead, one of the strangers finally spoke.
“My name is Daniel. I’m an attorney.”
He placed another document on the table.
“Your father discovered that several executives at the company were stealing millions of dollars.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“He gathered evidence.”
Daniel paused.
“Then he disappeared.”
My mouth went dry.
“He died in an accident.”
“That’s what everyone was told,” Daniel said.
“Everyone except Mr. Harrison.”
I turned toward my boss.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was trying to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“You threatened to fire me if I didn’t come here!”
“I needed you here because someone is watching you.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
Mr. Harrison pulled out his phone and showed me several photographs.
My apartment building.
My car.
Me entering the office.
Someone had been following me for weeks.
“We discovered that the people who stole the money believe your father left the evidence with you.”
“I don’t have anything.”
“You do,” he said.
“What?”
“Your father left something in your possession.”
I thought about it.
Then I remembered an old wooden box sitting in the back of my closet.
