For the past three months, every night I have been smelling a strange smell. It’s not a typical body odor. It was like the smell of mold mixed with a strong, pungent smell clinging to the blankets, to the bedsheet, and especially to the part of the bed where Christopher was sleeping.

Inside the bag were bundles of cash, thick stacks of money bound with rubber bands, some already damp and spotted with mold.

I stared at them in disbelief.

“Why is there so much money hidden here,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I reached deeper into the bag and found several envelopes filled with documents. There were receipts, contracts, and a small notebook that looked worn from use.

When I opened the notebook, my body stiffened immediately.

The pages were filled with dates, amounts of money, and names of organizations, arranged like a record of transactions that had been carefully tracked over time.

At the bottom of each page, there was a small symbol, a simple cross drawn in ink.

I frowned, unable to understand what it meant.

Then I opened another envelope and found photographs.

They were pictures of children, thin and wearing worn clothes, standing in front of a small building that looked like a school.

On the back of one photo, there was a note that read, “Hope Valley Community School, Texas.”

Confusion flooded my mind.

I opened another envelope and found a letter written in handwriting I recognized instantly.

It was from Christopher.

I took a deep breath and began reading.

“Rachel,