Gemotions

The musty scent of the storage unit enveloped Daniel as he searched for his father’s old fishing gear. He'd been expecting the usual – tackle boxes, maybe a rusty rod or two. Instead, he found a neatly sealed envelope. The postmark read 1991. The contents, a letter, addressed to “The Board of Directors.”

Daniel’s fingers fumbled with the clasp. The letter was short and curt: a resignation, citing “a breach of trust.” He slumped against a stack of boxes, a wave of sickness hitting him. He thought he knew his father. He had been so wrong.

He felt a chill, despite the summer heat. His mind raced, imagining all the things he hadn't known, the secrets that had been hidden. His throat felt tight, and he struggled to swallow.