Chapter 6
At eleven twenty that morning, Vanessa’s car was found in a parking garage near Union Station.
The police called her sister first.
Her sister called me.
The driver’s door was unlocked.
Vanessa’s purse was inside.
So was her wallet.
Her coat was gone.
Her phone was gone.
No obvious signs of violence.
No Vanessa.
Dad and I went downtown despite Claire telling me to stay home.
I couldn’t sit inside that house waiting.
Not after Daniel’s warning.
The garage smelled like exhaust and concrete.
Police tape blocked part of the level.
Vanessa’s sister, Rachel, stood near an officer.
She had Vanessa’s dark hair and the same eyes.
When she saw me, she walked straight toward me.
“Are you Emily?”
“Yes.”
She slapped me.
Dad moved instantly.
I caught his arm.
Rachel was crying.
“You brought her into this.”
I touched my burning cheek.
“I didn’t know she existed until yesterday.”
“She called you.”
“She came to my house because Daniel lied to both of us.”
Rachel shook her head.
“She never should have gone with you.”
“You’re right.”
The answer stopped her.
I swallowed.
“She shouldn’t have had to.”
Rachel’s face crumpled.
“I can’t find her.”
“I know.”
“What did Daniel do?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked at me as if she wanted to hate me.
Maybe she needed to.
I understood.
An officer approached.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“We need to ask about your last contact with Ms. Lane.”
I showed him everything.
The messages.
The condo photographs.
Daniel asking for the blue folder.
Vanessa saying she had evidence.
The strange texts from her phone.
When I finished, the officer asked, “Why would Mr. Carter say the folder implicated you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know what’s inside?”
“No.”
Dad folded his arms.
“He forged her name on loans.”
The officer looked at me.
“Is that documented?”
“My attorney is working on it.”
He wrote something down.
Then asked, “Did Ms. Lane leave the condo carrying anything?”
I closed my eyes and replayed the evening.
Her purse.
Her phone.
Her keys.
Nothing else.
Then I remembered.
The elevator.
Vanessa had held her coat closed with one arm.
At the time I thought she was cold.
But inside the condo, she had taken her coat off.
When she put it back on, one side had hung strangely.
“I think she hid something under her coat.”
Dad looked at me.
“You didn’t say that.”
“I just remembered.”
The officer wrote it down.
“What size?”
“I don’t know. Something flat.”
“A folder?”
“Maybe.”
Rachel began crying again.
The officer told us detectives would review garage cameras.
Then Dad pulled me aside.
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“If Vanessa took evidence because she realized Daniel was dangerous, I’m not abandoning her.”
“You don’t even like her.”
I stared at him.
“This isn’t about liking her.”
Dad’s expression softened.
I continued.
“She made terrible choices. So did I. I trusted the same man.”
Dad looked away.
His anger wasn’t really for Vanessa.
It was for himself.
He had told me two years ago that Daniel had become secretive.
I laughed it off.
Last Christmas, Dad asked why Daniel kept taking calls outside.
I accused him of being suspicious.
Now Dad carried guilt because he thought he should have pushed harder.
I touched his arm.
“You couldn’t have known.”
He looked at me.
“Neither could you.”
That hurt.
Because I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Claire called while we were leaving the garage.
“I found another problem.”
“Of course you did.”
“Where are you?”
“Downtown.”
She sighed.
“I told you—”
“Claire.”
She stopped.
“What did you find?”
“A second mortgage.”
My feet stopped.
“On my house?”
“Yes.”
Dad turned.
I put the call on speaker.
Claire continued.
“It was recorded seven months ago.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Our house is almost paid off.”
“Not anymore.”
I leaned against Dad’s truck.
“Did I sign it?”
“Your signature appears on the documents.”
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you.”
“Why didn’t I receive anything?”
“The mailing address on the loan is not your home.”
“Where is it?”
Claire read the address.
Dad’s face changed.
“What?”
He recognized it.
I didn’t.
“Dad?”
“That’s Susan’s address.”
Daniel’s mother.
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Claire said, “You’re sure?”
Dad nodded even though she couldn’t see him.
“Yes.”
I called Susan.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Michael answered.
“Emily, I’m at work.”
“Did your mother let Daniel use her address for a mortgage?”
Silence.
“Michael.”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop protecting them.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me where she is.”
“She’s home.”
“She’s not answering.”
“I’ll call her.”
“You do that.”
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, Michael called back.
“She’s not there.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she normally disappear in the middle of the day?”
“No.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did Daniel call her?”
“Probably.”
“Michael.”
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
“You think I have it?”
His voice broke.
“My brother has lied to me for a year. My mother has lied to me. Vanessa is missing. Now you’re asking me questions about mortgages I’ve never heard of.”
I softened slightly.
“Then help me.”
“How?”
“Find Susan.”
There was silence.
Then he said, “I know one place.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we met Michael outside a church in Lincoln Park.
Susan volunteered there twice a week.
Her car was parked in back.
We found her in a small office speaking with a priest.
When she saw us, she stood abruptly.
“Emily?”
I placed the mortgage record on the desk.
“Why was this sent to your house?”
Susan stared at it.
Her face drained.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t.”
“I swear.”
Dad stepped forward.
“Your son took three hundred thousand dollars against my daughter’s home and used your address.”
Susan sat down.
“I didn’t know it was against your house.”
I stared at her.
“So you did know something.”
She covered her face.
Michael said, “Mom.”
Susan started crying.
“Daniel asked if he could receive business mail at my house.”
“When?” I asked.
“Last year.”
“What kind of business mail?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“Yes.”
“How much mail?”
“Several envelopes.”
“From banks?”
Susan nodded.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, my voice became quieter.
“Did you ever wonder why your married son needed financial documents sent to his mother’s house?”
“He said you were stressed about money.”
“I didn’t know we had money problems.”
“I know that now.”
Michael paced away.
“You knew.”
Susan looked at him.
“I didn’t know what he was doing.”
“You knew enough to hide mail.”
“I was helping my son.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
“No. You were helping him lie.”
Susan broke down.
I should have felt satisfied.
I didn’t.
I felt tired.
“Did Daniel contact you today?”
She hesitated.
Dad slammed his palm against the desk.
“Enough!”
The priest stepped in.
“Sir.”
Dad backed away.
Susan whispered, “Yes.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked me for a key.”
“To what?”
Susan looked at Michael.
Then me.
“A storage unit.”
My skin prickled.
“What storage unit?”
“Daniel rented it in my name.”
Michael stared at her.
“You have got to be kidding.”
Susan sobbed.
“He said it was temporary.”
“Where?”
She gave us the address.
Claire’s words echoed in my head.
Do not confront Daniel.
I called her.
She told me not to go.
Then she called the detective handling Vanessa’s disappearance.
Police reached the storage facility before we did.
Daniel wasn’t there.
The manager confirmed he had arrived forty minutes earlier.
He used Susan’s key.
He stayed twelve minutes.
Security video showed him leaving with a black duffel bag.
“What was inside the unit?” I asked.
The detective shook his head.
“We’ll need consent or a warrant.”
Susan stepped forward.
“It’s in my name. You have my consent.”
The manager opened it.
The unit was nearly empty.
A metal filing cabinet.
Two cardboard boxes.
An old desk.
The detective pulled on gloves.
Inside the filing cabinet were property records.
Loan documents.
Copies of my driver’s license.
Copies of my Social Security card.
Bank statements.
My tax returns.
Everything Daniel needed to become me on paper.
I felt violated in a way I couldn’t describe.
Then Dad opened one cardboard box.
He froze.
“Officer.”
The detective came closer.
Inside were phones.
Six of them.
Cheap prepaid phones.
Underneath them were stacks of unopened mail.
Different names.
Different addresses.
The detective’s expression changed.
This was no longer a messy marriage.
This was something else.
Then Michael reached toward the desk.
“There’s something taped underneath.”
The detective stopped him and crouched down.
A small envelope had been taped beneath the drawer.
He removed it carefully.
Inside was a memory card.
Nothing else.
The detective bagged it.
I stared at the storage unit.
“Where did Daniel go?”
Nobody knew.
Then my phone buzzed.
Vanessa.
A photograph.
No words.
The image showed a motel room.
A television.
A chair wedged beneath the door handle.
And Vanessa’s bare feet at the bottom of the frame.
“She’s alive.”
Rachel grabbed my phone.
“Oh my God.”
Another message arrived.
HE FOUND MY SISTER’S HOUSE. I COULDN’T GO THERE.
I typed fast.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Vanessa replied:
I CAN’T TELL YOU.
DO YOU HAVE THE BLUE FOLDER?
Three dots appeared.
Then:
YES.
My heart pounded.
WHAT IS IN IT?
There was a long delay.
Finally:
PROOF THAT DANIEL HAS BEEN USING YOUR NAME.
I typed:
WE ALREADY FOUND SOME OF IT.
Vanessa replied immediately.
NO.
YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.
THE FOLDER ISN’T ABOUT LOANS.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Another message.
IT’S ABOUT YOUR LIFE INSURANCE.
