The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning in February.
Not from Caroline. Not from any of the shadowy figures we'd spent years uncovering. Not even through the untraceable courier systems that had become almost familiar over the past two years.
This one came through the regular mail. Postmarked from Florence, Italy. Addressed in handwriting I didn't recognize elegant, European, careful.
I almost set it aside. We received unusual correspondence regularly now documentary viewers, Second Course applicants, journalists wanting interviews, the occasional person who believed our investigation had affected their life in ways we'd never anticipated.
But something made me open it immediately.
Dear Mrs. Moretti,
My name is Ginevra Esposito. I am Gianluca's daughter. We have never met, though I know a great deal about you from my father's writings.
