CHAPTER 8 – THE STORAGE UNIT
The coordinates led to a storage facility.
Unit 214.
Dad had prepaid it for ten years.
Inside were six boxes.
A metal safe.
And one chair.
Nothing else.
Ortiz insisted police open the safe.
Inside were legal documents.
Dad's updated will.
A letter to me.
And a sealed envelope addressed to Daniel.
My letter was short.
Rachel,
If you're reading this, I probably failed to fix things before they became dangerous.
Protect your brother.
But don't make the mistake I made.
Protecting Daniel doesn't mean making decisions for him.
Listen to him.
He sees more than people think.
Love,
Dad.
I cried quietly.
Daniel pretended not to notice.
Then he opened his letter.
His was even shorter.
Daniel,
You were right about the blue pills.
I should have listened sooner.
I'm sorry.
Dad.
Daniel stared at the page for almost a minute.
Then he sat down.
“I told him.”
“Told him what?”
“Blue pills made him sick.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Three weeks before hospital.”
Dad had listened.
Eventually.
That was why he'd ordered the private toxicology screening.
That was why he'd changed his will.
The remaining documents explained the inheritance.
Dad had created a second trust.
Not for me.
For both of us.
Its purpose was to fund Daniel's independent care without giving any guardian direct access to his primary inheritance.
Mom couldn't touch it.
Ever.
Even if she institutionalized him.
Which meant her entire plan had been doomed from the beginning.
Unless she found these documents.
Then Daniel noticed something.
One box was open.
Dust covered everything else.
Not that box.
Ortiz crouched beside it.
“Someone's been here recently.”
The facility manager checked the access records.
Someone had entered Unit 214 three days earlier.
Using Dad's old access code.
Security cameras had captured the person.
Not Mom.
Not Marcus.
A woman.
About sixty.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
Daniel saw her face and immediately said.
“Aunt Linda.”
May you like
Dad's sister.
A woman who had supposedly died eight years earlier.
