Chapter 3 - The Blue Toolbox
The toolbox was buried beneath fifteen years of dust.
I found it behind a broken Christmas tree stand in our apartment building's basement storage room.
Blue metal.
Rusty handle.
A small dent near the lock.
I recognized it immediately.
My father used to let me carry it when I was little.
"Strong girls carry their own tools," he'd say.
I sat on the concrete floor and opened it.
Inside were old screwdrivers, electrical tape, a photograph of my parents, and a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
For Emma. When she's old enough to understand.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Sweetheart, if you're reading this, then something went wrong.
I hope you never have to know how cruel people can become when money matters more than human life.
But I also hope you remember what I taught you.
Never bow your head to someone simply because they have more power than you.
Tears blurred the words.
I wiped my face and continued.
I found evidence that construction funds and pension contributions were being diverted into private accounts.
I am meeting Vincent Morgan tomorrow because I believe he deserves to know what his brother has done.
My breath caught.
Vincent.
My father had trusted him.
The letter continued.
If I don't come home, find the red folder. It contains the truth.
I searched the toolbox.
No red folder.
Only tools and another photograph.
The photograph showed my father standing beside a younger Vincent Morgan.
They were smiling.
Behind them stood Richard Morgan.
My stomach tightened.
Then I noticed writing on the back.
June 14. The day everything changed.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
"Miss Carter?"
"Who's this?"
"Vincent Morgan."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stood so quickly the toolbox tipped over.
"What do you want?"
"To apologize."
I stared at the basement wall.
"For throwing a coffee cup?"
"For that. And for something much worse."
My throat tightened.
"You knew my father."
Silence.
Then Vincent said, "Yes."
"Did you kill him?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
A long pause followed.
"No."
"Then why did he die after meeting you?"
Vincent exhaled slowly.
"Because I made a mistake that I've regretted for fifteen years."
I closed my eyes.
"What mistake?"
"I believed my brother."
I gripped the phone.
"Richard?"
"Yes."
"Then go to the police."
"I have spent years gathering evidence."
"Why wait until now?"
Vincent's voice changed.
"Because someone recently accessed your father's old investigation file."
My stomach twisted.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Then he added something that made me freeze.
"Emma, your mother's medical records were accessed yesterday by someone using a Morgan Industries authorization."
I could barely breathe.
"Why would anyone look at her records?"
Vincent answered quietly.
"Because somebody finally realized Helen Carter is still alive."
Before I could respond, I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
A man stood at the basement entrance.
Dark coat.
Black gloves.
Unfamiliar face.
He smiled.
"Miss Carter?"
My blood ran cold.
"Who are you?"
May you like
He looked at the open toolbox.
Then said, "I've come for the red folder."
