Inside was a stack of envelopes.
Dozens of them.
Each one had my name written across the front in my neighbor’s shaky handwriting. My hands trembled as I opened the first letter.
“If you’re reading this,” it began, “then I finally came back.”
I sat on the floor, completely stunned.
The letters explained everything. Two years earlier, my neighbor, Mara, had discovered her ex-boyfriend was involved with dangerous people. She overheard conversations about stolen money and threats against witnesses. One night, she disappeared without warning because someone had tipped her off that she was next.
But before leaving, she hid something in my air vent.
I dug deeper into the envelopes until I found a small flash drive taped beneath them.
Mara looked at me nervously. “I didn’t know who else to trust,” she whispered.
The drive contained copies of bank records, photos, and audio recordings. Evidence. Enough to destroy several people.
“You hid this in my apartment for two years?” I asked.
Tears filled her eyes. “I came back every Friday to make sure it was still there.”
I didn’t know whether to feel angry or terrified.
Then she said the one thing that made my blood run cold:
“They know I returned last night.”
A car suddenly slowed outside my house.
And for the first time in two years, Mara looked truly afraid.
