a note in blue ink.
You don’t owe me trust. Just get on the plane. We’ll sort the rest when you land.
No signature.
He didn’t need one.
I knew his handwriting from years ago, from legal pads and cocktail napkins and one Christmas card Adrian had tossed in a drawer without opening because it came from “that smug bastard.”
Graham Dawson.
Adrian’s old partner.continue reading …
