Chapter 10 - The Letters in the AtticWith Evelyn held without bail, the district attorney requested a full search of her suburban home to inventory items that had been unlawfully removed from Jack’s estate over the years.
Jack and Clara arrived at his childhood home accompanied by Detective Raymond. The house was frozen in time—heavy mahogany furniture, velvet drapes, and portraits of Jack in various school uniforms lining the hallway like trophies in a museum.
While Raymond cataloged the safe deposit boxes in the master bedroom, Jack climbed the creaky fold-down stairs into the attic. It was dusty, smelling of old cedar and dried paper. In the far corner, beneath an oilcloth tarp, sat an olive-drab footlocker belonging to his late father, Captain Thomas Vance.
Jack opened the brass clasps. Inside were his father’s service ribbons, an old compass, and a bundle of letters tied with faded blue ribbon. Jack untied the knot and opened the first envelope.
It wasn't a letter from the military; it was a diary entry, written in his father’s precise, angular script, dated just months before he died of cancer in 2010.
“If you are reading this, Jack, it means I am gone, and you are left with Evelyn. God forgive me, son, but I must warn you. Your mother does not see people as souls; she sees them as possessions to be arranged in her cabinet. I stayed because I wanted to shield you from her coldness until you were strong enough to stand. Do not let her make you bitter. Find a woman who loves you for your scars, not your rank, and build a fortress around her that your mother can never breach.”
Tears blurred Jack’s vision. He held the yellowed paper against his chest in the dusty attic air. His father had seen the storm coming fifteen years ago.
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Clara climbed the stairs slowly, peering through the trapdoor. “Jack? Are you alright?”
He looked up, wiping his eyes, and held out his hand to her. “I’m better than alright, Clara. My father just gave us his blessing.”
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