Harper sat quietly while I opened it.
Inside were photographs of my parents when they were young. My father, Daniel Bennett, had kind eyes and a wide, unguarded smile. In one picture, he held me on his shoulders while my mother laughed beside him. I touched the edge of the photo, and grief rose unexpectedly, softer now than it had once been but still alive.
Beneath the photos were folded documents, old keys, a watch that no longer worked, and a stack of envelopes tied with blue ribbon.
I had seen them before but never read them closely. They were letters my father had written to my mother during work trips.
I untied the ribbon with careful fingers.
Most were ordinary. Loving. Brief.
I miss you both.
Tell Maya I found the moon she drew for me tucked inside my suitcase.
Don’t let her eat cereal for dinner just because she smiles at you.
Then I found one dated six months before he died.
Elaine,
I know you’re tired of hearing me say I’m close, but I am. Carter knows more than he admits, though I think he’s afraid of what it will cost him. If the archive proves what I think it proves, we’ll finally have enough to protect the families.
Do not mention Northstar to anyone.
If something happens, take Maya and go to your sister’s place. Use the name file.
I’m sorry for carrying this into our home. I thought I could keep it separate.
D.
I read it twice without breathing.
Harper whispered, “Maya.”
I placed the letter on the table.
The apartment felt suddenly too small to hold the past.
“Carter,” I said.
Not Nathan.
His father.
Nathan’s father had known mine.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Nathan.
Are you all right?
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed back with fingers that felt strangely calm.
My father knew your father. I found a letter. It mentions Northstar.
The reply came almost instantly.
I’m coming to you.
This time, I did not say no.
Nathan arrived twenty minutes later with Priya and Denise, which told me he had listened to every lesson this week had tried to teach him. Harper opened the door, looked at all three of them, and said, “Great. The emotionally complicated boardroom has arrived.”
Priya blinked.
Denise almost smiled.
Nathan only looked at me.
“Show me,” he said softly.
I handed him the letter.
He read it standing near my kitchen table. As his eyes moved across the page, his expression shifted from focus to disbelief to something that looked like sorrow.
“My father never mentioned Daniel Bennett,” he said.
“Was he the Carter in the letter?”
“I think so.”
Priya took a photo of the letter with my permission, then examined the paper and envelope.
“This changes the frame,” she said. “Maya may not have been chosen because of Nathan. She may have been chosen because of her father.”
Denise looked at me. “Did your mother ever say anything about Northstar?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“What is the name file?” Harper asked.
We all looked at the letter again.
Use the name file.
I searched the wooden box until my hands ached. Nothing. No file. No flash drive. No folder labeled with a name that meant anything.
Then Nathan quietly said, “May I see the envelopes?”
I handed them over.
He spread them carefully across the table, not reading the letters, only studying the fronts.
After a moment, he picked one up.
