Marlene snorted.
“There it is. Daddy’s last little joke.”
I picked up the photograph.
It showed me at the charity dinner, holding a tray, caught mid-laugh.
I didn’t remember anyone taking it, but the charity logo was faintly stamped in the corner.
The letter was written in Russell’s careful hand.
I unfolded it with both hands.
“What does it say?” Marlene demanded.
I kept reading.
My eyes blurred.
“What does it say?” she snapped again, reaching across the desk.
The lawyer gently stopped her.
“The letter is private. Your father
