Chapter 6 - UNIT 317

Marcus called an old police contact.

Then we drove to the storage facility.

The manager remembered Harold.

“He came around midnight.”

“With anyone?”

“Older woman. Fancy coat.”

Margaret.

“And Daniel?”

The manager frowned.

“Maybe. Guy stayed in the vehicle.”

Security footage showed Harold and Margaret entering Unit 317.

Forty minutes later they rolled out two plastic containers and a long metal case.

I recognized the case.

It had been under Daniel’s side of our bed for months.

He told me it held hunting equipment.

My stomach turned.

“Where did they take it?”

“No camera beyond the exit.”

Marcus asked for rental records.

The manager hesitated until Naomi mentioned a subpoena.

The unit had been rented under a corporation owned by Harold Finch.

Seven years.

The exact period Rebecca had been missing.

My phone buzzed.

A voicemail from Daniel.

I played it.

“Claire, I know you’re angry. But you’re listening to people who don’t understand our family. Come home. We can still save this.”

Save this.

Not save us.

Marcus noticed too.

“He cares about the deal.”

Naomi’s phone rang.

She answered.

Her face changed.

“What?”

She listened.

Then turned toward me.

“Someone filed the modified prenup this morning.”

My stomach dropped.

“Filed where?”

“With documents supporting a transfer petition involving the trust.”

“But I never signed it.”

“They included notarization.”

“Harold.”

“Yes.”

“So they’re pretending the fake is real?”

“Exactly.”

I stood.

“Then we stop it.”

Naomi nodded.

“I’m filing an emergency injunction.”

Marcus looked toward the road.

“We also need to find what they moved.”

The storage manager approached.

“I might know.”

We turned.

“There’s another camera.”

He pointed across the parking lot.

“Gas station next door. Their camera sees the highway.”

Twenty minutes later we watched footage.

Harold’s SUV left at 1:08 a.m.

It drove east.

Marcus checked traffic cameras through his contact.

One hit.

Then another.

The SUV traveled forty-two miles.

Stopped near an abandoned Bennett family property.

A farmhouse Daniel had once told me burned years ago.

Except it hadn’t burned.

We drove there with two sheriff’s deputies.

The farmhouse stood behind dead trees.

Windows boarded.

Door chained.

One deputy cut the chain.

Inside smelled like dust and gasoline.

We searched downstairs.

Nothing.

Then Marcus found scratches near the kitchen floor.

A trapdoor.

Beneath it were concrete steps.

We descended.

The basement contained old furniture.

Boxes.

Files.

And one long metal case.

My hands shook as Marcus opened it.

Inside were documents.

Dozens of them.

Passports.

Trust records.

Marriage licenses.

Copies of signatures.

Photographs of women.

Then I saw one labeled:

CLAIRE HARRISON BENNETT — PHASE TWO

I reached for it.

May you like

THE MAID’S DAUGHTER

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE,” HIS FIANCÉE TOLD THE MAID—THEN THE MAFIA BOSS LOOKED AT HER LITTLE GIRL“Get out of my house. And take that...

**MY HUSBAND CALLED ME A “BARREN LEECH”—HE DIDN’T KNOW MY MONEY WAS KEEP...

My husband threw his wedding ring at my feet and told security to remove the “barren leech” from the ballroom.He had no idea he wa...

MY DAUGHTER’S NOTE STOPPED MY WEDDING—AND EXPOSED MY BRIDE

MY DAUGHTER SLIPPED ME A NOTE BEFORE “I DO”—AND EXPOSED MY BRIDE’S PLANPART 1 — TEN MINUTES BEFORE THE VOWS“Daddy, if you marry he...

Behind us, the basement door slammed shut.

And someone turned the lock.