It was a timeline.
Tonight.
The note felt like a key I didn’t know how to use yet, but I knew one thing: if Robert had arranged this through Lucas, then Robert had been planning for the moment I’d be alone with the truth.
And the moment I stepped out the door, I understood something else: grief didn’t make me weaker.
It made me honest enough to see what I’d been avoiding.
The streets were slick with a light drizzle by the time I pulled into Marlo’s Diner’s parking lot. The neon sign buzzed faintly above the door, red and blue reflections trembling on the wet asphalt. The place looked like the kind of diner people drove past without noticing—one of those stubborn buildings that survived decades by not trying too hard.
I parked near the far end and checked the time. 9:26 p.m.
Arthur was already inside. I saw him through the window, sitting alone in a booth near the back wall, a leather briefcase beside him. His silver hair caught the yellow overhead light. He looked older than I remembered, but his posture was the same—straight-backed, composed, like he’d been sitting at tables negotiating reality for other people his entire life.
When I stepped inside, the warm air hit me along with the smell of coffee and frying onions. A waitress behind the counter glanced up and then went back to pouring mugs like she’d seen everything.
Arthur’s eyes lifted and locked onto mine.
He stood immediately. “Christine.”
The relief in his voice was unmistakable, and it cracked something in my chest because it sounded like someone finally arrived at the scene of a disaster.
“Arthur,” I said.
He pulled out the seat across from him. “You made it.”
The waitress appeared and poured coffee into two mugs without asking. Arthur nodded politely. “Thank you, Linda.”
She smiled and walked away. Arthur waited until she was out of earshot before leaning forward slightly.
“Did anyone follow you?” he asked.
The question startled me. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re sure?”
“I checked my mirrors,” I said.
Arthur nodded slowly. “Good.”
I slid into the booth and placed my purse on the table. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The diner’s low hum filled the silence—plates clinking, quiet conversation at the counter, the sizzle of something on a griddle.
Then I reached into my purse and pulled out the folded note.
“This is what Robert left,” I said.
Arthur took it carefully like it might crumble, scanned it, and nodded once. “Yes.”
“Yes?” I repeated.
“This is exactly what he told me he wrote,” Arthur said.
My heart skipped. “So you knew about the note.”
“Not the exact wording,” Arthur replied. “But Robert told me he was leaving a warning with Lucas.”
“Why Lucas?” I asked.
Arthur folded the note again and slid it back across the table. “Because Lucas was the only one in the house no one paid attention to.”
Children hear everything, I thought.
Arthur studied my face. “Christine, before we go further—did anyone ask you to sign paperwork today?”
“Yes,” I said.
Arthur’s expression darkened instantly. “Daniel.”
“And Laura. And Ethan. All of them,” I added. “They called it temporary paperwork for the company. They wanted it tonight.”
Arthur leaned back slightly, eyes closing for a second as if he was steadying himself. Then he looked at me again. “Did you sign anything?”
