Chapter 3 - THE WAREHOUSE
I didn't go alone.
I called a former colleague from my company's legal department.
Her name was Rachel.
She arrived twenty minutes later.
I showed her everything.
The transfer.
The fake prison story.
The mysterious company.
The text from Vincent.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked:
“Do you trust your husband?”
I looked at her.
“I don't know anymore.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I sighed.
“No.”
Rachel nodded.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because if Vincent is involved, trusting him could get you hurt.”
We followed the black SUV from a distance.
It eventually turned toward the warehouse.
We parked several blocks away.
The building was dark.
Except for one upstairs window.
I entered through a side door.
Inside, I heard voices.
Vincent.
And another man.
“I told you she wasn't supposed to come back yet.”
Vincent sounded terrified.
The other man answered:
“She wasn't supposed to discover the transfer.”
“She was never supposed to see the receipt.”
“You should have destroyed it.”
“I tried.”
I froze.
They were talking about me.
Then the other man said:
“Her father signed everything.”
Vincent whispered:
“That's not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knows.”
The man laughed.
“She doesn't know anything.”
I stepped closer.
Then I heard a name.
“Parker.”
My maiden name.
My father's name.
The man continued.
“Her father kept records.”
Vincent said:
“I told you I couldn't find them.”
“You had eight years.”
“I married her. I didn't become her.”
Silence.
Then the man said:
“Find the records.”
“And if she finds them first?”
The answer came quietly.
“Then make sure she looks guilty.”
My heart stopped.
I backed away.
My shoe struck a metal pipe.
Clang.
The voices stopped.
“Who's there?”
I ran.
Behind me, footsteps exploded through the hallway.
Rachel grabbed my arm.
“Go!”
We sprinted toward the exit.
A man shouted:
“Stop!”
We reached the car.
I slammed the door.
Rachel accelerated away.
Only after we were several blocks away did I breathe again.
Then she looked at me.
“Did you hear what I heard?”
“Yes.”
“What records?”
I looked through the window.
“My father.”
“What about him?”
“He's been hiding something.”
I suddenly remembered the hillside.
My mother's grave.
May you like
And a locked wooden shed Dad had never allowed anyone to enter.
For the first time, I wondered what he had been protecting all these years.
