Chapter 11 - THE BOX UNDER MY FATHER’S NAME
My father had been dead for eleven years.
Heart attack.
Fifty-seven years old.
His grave was in a small cemetery outside Murfreesboro.
I hadn’t been there in six months.
Richard claimed Teresa used the family burial plot because nobody would search it.
I thought he was lying.
Until police brought a warrant.
Behind my father’s headstone was a stone flower box.
Inside it, under fake soil and plastic roses, investigators found a weatherproof metal case.
My name was written on it.
So was Amy’s.
Inside were copies of financial records.
Fake medical documents.
Forged letters.
A draft petition claiming I suffered from severe emotional instability.
One “statement” claimed I had violent outbursts.
Another said Amy feared me.
I turned to her.
She looked horrified.
“I never said any of that.”
“I know.”
Then Daniels found a handwritten page.
Teresa’s writing.
I recognized every loop.
Every capital T.
It was a list.
Separate Connor from Amy financially.
Make Amy dependent.
Establish Teresa as household authority.
Document Connor’s temper.
Move property.
Secure POA.
Remove Amy if necessary.
Protect family assets.
I read number seven again.
“Remove Amy?”
Nobody answered.
There was another file.
Photos of Amy.
At the grocery store.
At the pediatrician.
At the park.
At Rachel’s house.
My mother had paid someone to follow her.
Then we found messages printed from an unknown phone.
Teresa: She needs to look unstable.
Unknown: How far?
Teresa: Enough that Connor believes Frederick isn’t safe with her.
Unknown: You want CPS involved?
Teresa: If necessary.
Amy covered her mouth.
“No.”
I felt rage rise through my chest.
“She wanted to take Frederick.”
Daniels kept reading.
Unknown: And if Connor sides with her?
Teresa: Then we move to Plan B.
No explanation.
Just two words.
Plan B.
I stared at the papers.
“What was Plan B?”
Daniels shook his head.
“We don’t know yet.”
Then one officer found a small envelope taped under the case lid.
Inside was a key.
Storage Unit 318.
The facility was twelve miles away.
By sunset, we were standing outside a roll-up door.
Police cut the lock.
Daniels lifted the metal door.
Inside were boxes.
A folding table.
A printer.
Two burner phones.
Blank legal forms.
And photographs covering one entire wall.
Me.
Amy.
Frederick.
Our house.
My truck.
My office.
My workplace.
Then I saw a large map.
Red circles marked locations around Nashville.
Our house.
Amy’s sister’s apartment.
Frederick’s pediatrician.
My job site.
And one highway bridge.
Beside that bridge was a date.
September 16.
The following Tuesday.
May you like
And under the date, my mother had written:
FINAL OPTION.
