“Persistently,” Clara said. She picked up the envelope. She turned it over in her hands.
“Do you want to read it?” Liam asked. “We can send it to the lawyer. Add it to the file for her parole hearing in… twenty years.”
Clara smiled. “No. I don’t think I need to know what she has to say. I know her story. It ends in a cell.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. She flicked it open. The flame danced in the gentle breeze.
“What are you doing?” Liam asked, though he was smiling.
“Cleaning house,” Clara said.
She held the flame to the corner of the envelope. The paper caught instantly. She held it until the heat nipped at her fingertips, then dropped it into the empty ashtray. They watched together as the words—the pleas, the manipulations, the venom—curled into black ash.
“And your father?” Liam asked gently.
“The auction of the estate is next week,” Clara said, watching the smoke rise. “He’s moving into a condo in Florida. He called yesterday.”
“Did you answer?”