I frowned.
“Everything about what?”
The sheriff looked at me carefully.
“About the wallet.”
I waited.
Then he said something I never expected.
“Evan, that wallet was never supposed to be found by accident.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
He reached into a folder.
He pulled out an old photograph.
And the second I saw it…
I stopped breathing.
Because standing next to Walter Bennett was my father.
Young.
Smiling.
Alive.
I stared at the picture.
“Where did you get this?”
“Walter gave it to me.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
The sheriff hesitated.
Then he said:
“Because he believed it was time you knew the truth about your father.”
I invited him inside.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because some part of me knew that whatever he was about to say would change everything.
The sheriff sat at my kitchen table.
The same table where I helped my kids with homework.
The same table where I paid bills I couldn’t afford.
The same table where I had eaten alone for years.
He placed the photograph down.
“Your father and Walter were close friends.”
I looked at the picture again.
“I knew my father had friends.”
“No, Evan.”
The sheriff shook his head.
“They weren’t just friends.”
I waited.
“They were partners.”
I laughed slightly.
“That doesn’t make sense. My father was a mechanic.”
“Yes.”
“And Walter?”
“He was an accountant.”
I frowned.
“Then what kind of partnership?”
The sheriff leaned forward.
“Your father created something.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“A piece of technology.”
I almost smiled.
“My father?”
