The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning.
Cream-colored envelope. Elegant handwriting. No return address. I almost threw it away, thinking it was another journalist or someone from Ethan's camp trying to contact me.
But something made me open it.
Dear Violet,
You don't know me, but I know you. I'm Evelyn Carter, Ethan's mother. I realize this letter may seem strange, but I need to speak with you. Privately. Away from lawyers and courts and the circus this has all become.
There are things about my son you need to understand. Things that might help you make sense of what happened. Or at least protect yourself from what's coming.
Please meet me. Thursday, 2 PM, Café Lucerne on the Upper West Side. Come alone.
I promise I mean you no harm. In fact, I may be the only member of the Carter
