What is this? Who sent this? Did Knox set this up?
I sit up straight on the edge of the mattress, my thumb dragging down the glass screen to refresh the balance, desperately wanting to believe Knox is taking care of me from beyond the grave.
But deep down, I know the truth.
Knox couldn't have set this up. Knox didn't plan ten days ahead, let alone ten years. Knox told me that he was broke, drowning in debt to Vane, scrambling to deliver fentanyl orders.
Knox didn't have almost a million dollars in liquid cash to leave me, and even if he did, he wouldn't have it in a trust. If Knox had that kind of cash sitting around, he would have bought ammo, a better motorcycle, or another solid gold chain for his neck.
Then who?
And the realization hits me like a physical blow to the chest, kn
