Chapter 6 - THE SAFE BEHIND MY WALL
The police entered the colonial twenty-eight minutes later.
I was not there.
Claire made sure of that.
Dalton walked out alive.
Nicole was questioned.
Her father’s security people claimed they were only there for wedding protection.
The safe existed.
That was the important part.
And because Dalton was an occupant who discovered it inside the residence and officers observed potential evidence of stalking and planned harm, things moved very quickly.
The wedding stopped mattering.
The house stopped mattering.
For several hours, even the money stopped mattering.
The safe contained photographs of me over eighteen months.
Leaving work.
Entering my gym.
Meeting clients.
Driving to my parents’ house.
Having dinner with Rebecca.
There were copies of my insurance information.
My estate plan.
My travel schedule.
Vehicle details.
Medical records.
And the folder.
ACCIDENT OPTIONS.
It contained printed articles about fatal household falls.
Brake failures.
Carbon monoxide exposure.
Pedestrian accidents.
Nothing directly said:
Kill Sierra.
But nobody needed the phrase.
Police took it seriously.
Nicole was not arrested immediately.
She claimed the safe belonged to her father.
Claimed she never opened it.
Claimed she had no idea how it got into the basement.
Then investigators found her fingerprints.
Not enough for murder conspiracy.
Enough for more questions.
Dalton called me from the station.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at the wall.
“That phrase is getting crowded.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Which part?”
“The pictures.”
“Did you know she had my will?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you know she wanted the house if I died?”
“No.”
“You told me she thinks she gets it after I die.”
“She mentioned it during an argument.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“And you stayed with her?”
“She said it like a joke.”
“What exactly did she say?”
He hesitated.
“Someday Sierra will work herself to death and this place will finally be ours.”
My stomach turned.
“And you still planned the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought she was angry.”
“You think everyone is joking when the truth is inconvenient.”
He started crying.
“I know.”
“No, Dalton. I don’t think you do.”
Then he said:
“I’m not marrying her.”
“Good.”
“Dad says I should.”
I almost laughed.
“What?”
“He says canceling will trigger Graham.”
There it was.
The wedding had become an obligation to a man my family feared.
I called Dad immediately.
He answered.
“You need to let the police handle this.”
“I am.”
“Then stop calling everybody.”
“Why are you telling Dalton to marry Nicole?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“He signed agreements.”
“Business agreements are not wedding vows.”
“You don’t understand Warren.”
“Then explain.”
Dad took a long breath.
Thirty years earlier, Grandpa Bennett had been part owner of a regional trucking company.
Graham Walsh used several trucking firms to move cash and stolen goods.
Grandpa discovered it.
He cooperated with federal investigators.
Walsh went to prison.
After release, he changed his name.
Built legitimate companies.
Investment funds.
Real estate.
Security firms.
And apparently never forgot the Bennetts.
“Why would he target Dalton?”
Dad whispered:
“I think Nicole targeted him first.”
“For revenge?”
“Maybe.”
“How did she get assigned to our family at Northgate?”
Dad went silent.
“You requested her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I recognized the last name Warren, not Walsh.”
“But you knew who she was?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you find out?”
“After she and Dalton started dating.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I thought keeping her close was safer.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“You encouraged my brother to date the daughter of a man you thought might hate our family because keeping her close was safer?”
“I was trying to manage it.”
The Bennett men had apparently confused stupidity with strategy for generations.
Then Claire called.
“Sierra, we have another issue.”
“Please tell me it’s boring.”
“It isn’t.”
“What?”
“The option memorandum on your property was not the only filing.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“A transfer deed.”
I stood.
“What transfer?”
“Recorded yesterday.”
“From me?”
“Purportedly.”
“To who?”
“Bennett Heritage Hospitality LLC.”
My body turned cold.
“They forged a deed?”
“It appears somebody attempted to record one.”
“Did it succeed?”
“It was accepted for recording, but that doesn’t make it valid.”
“Signature?”
“Yours.”
“Not mine.”
“I assumed.”
“Notary?”
Claire paused.
“Not your mother.”
“Who?”
“Nicole.”
I stared.
Nicole had become a notary.
Of course she had.
“When did she get commissioned?”
“Four months ago.”
Exactly when wedding planning intensified.
“Can she notarize a deed benefiting her own company?”
“That raises serious issues.”
“Can we challenge it?”
“Immediately.”
Then Claire added:
“But there’s something stranger.”
“What?”
“The deed says you signed it last night.”
I stopped breathing.
Last night I had been at my apartment.
With building cameras.
Emails.
Calls.
Multiple witnesses.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Then whoever filed it is desperate.”
“Yes.”
“Why yesterday?”
“Maybe because they knew you were selling.”
The attempted deed transfer was the move.
If they could cloud title, they could stall a sale.
Maybe close financing.
Maybe force a settlement.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph from an unknown number.
My car.
Parked outside my building.
Below it:
STOP DIGGING.
Another image arrived.
Rebecca leaving her office.
Then:
YOUR FRIEND DOESN’T OWN A $770,000 HOUSE.
I stopped breathing.
They had shifted targets.
I immediately called Rebecca.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a third photograph arrived.
Rebecca sitting inside a black SUV.
Eyes closed.
Head against the window.
May you like
Underneath:
NOW SHE’S PART OF THE FAMILY PROBLEM.
