ELIJAH'S POV
Deborah stood over me, her arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Looks like you're not the only one with secrets, husband."
The way she said the word 'husband' made it sound like a curse.
I looked at the photograph again, and my stomach lurched. In the corner, barely visible, was a timestamp. The exact date and time of my father's death. This wasn't some grainy security footage or blurry cell phone picture. This was professional. Deliberate. Someone had been there, watching, documenting everything.
"Who sent this?" I managed to ask.
Deborah shrugged. "No return address. Just showed up in our mailbox this morning."
Our mailbox. Whoever sent this knew where I lived. Knew where to find me. Had probably been watching me for months, maybe years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
