Chapter 6: The Box Under the Floor
Rachel told me not to confront my mother again.
“Not until we know what she has,” she said.
But knowing my father’s journals existed changed everything.
I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Every memory I had of him felt different.
Every conversation.
Every warning.
Every strange pause.
My father had been trying to tell me something.
I just wasn’t listening.
Three days later, Rachel called.
“Connor, I found something.””
I immediately sat up.
“What?””
“Your father’s attorney kept a record of personal property transferred after his death.””
“And?””
“There was a storage box.””
My heart started racing.
“Where?””
“That’s the problem. It was listed as missing.””
I stood up.
“Missing?””
“Yes.””
Rachel paused.
“And the person who signed for receiving your father’s belongings was your mother.””
Of course it was.
I drove straight to my mother’s house.
This time, I didn’t knock.
I stood outside until she opened the door.
“Connor?””
“Where is Dad’s box?””
Her face went pale.
“What box?””
I shook my head.
“Stop lying to me.””
She stepped back.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.””
“My father’s attorney recorded a storage box after his death.””
Silence.
My mother looked away.
That was all the answer I needed.
“Where is it?””
She crossed her arms.
“I protected this family.””
I stared at her.
“No. You protected yourself.””
Her eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what your father was dealing with.””
“Then tell me.””
She didn’t.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered:
“Your father was going to ruin everything.””
My blood ran cold.
“What does that mean?””
She immediately realized what she had said.
Her face changed.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.””
She looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
“You need to leave.””
I stepped closer.
“Where is the box?””
She refused to answer.
So I left.
But I wasn’t giving up.
That night, Rachel contacted the attorney who handled my father’s estate.
He remembered something.
“The storage company had a secondary contact listed.””
“Who?””
He hesitated.
“Melissa Walker.””
My stomach tightened.
I called Melissa.
She answered after three rings.
“Connor?””
“Where is Dad’s box?””
Silence.
Then:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.””
“You signed for it.””
Her breathing changed.
“Who told you that?””
That was enough.
“You did.””
She became quiet.
Then she said something I never expected.
“Connor, you need to stop digging.””
A chill ran through me.
“Why?””
“Because Dad wasn’t trying to expose us.””
My grip tightened on the phone.
“What?””
“He was trying to protect you.””
“From who?””
Another pause.
Then Melissa whispered:
“From Mom.””
The line went silent.
I stood there unable to move.
My sister.
The person I thought had betrayed my daughters.
The person I blamed.
Was now warning me about my mother.
Before I could ask another question, Melissa spoke again.
“Connor, listen carefully.””
Her voice trembled.
“If Mom finds out you have Dad’s letter, she’ll do anything to keep the rest hidden.””
“What rest?””
I heard a door close on her end.
Then she whispered:
“The box isn’t empty.””
A noise came from behind her.
Someone else was there.
Melissa suddenly stopped speaking.
“Connor, I have to go.””
“Melissa, wait—”
But she was already gone.
The next morning, Rachel arrived at my house with a serious expression.
She placed a photo on my kitchen table.
It was an image from the storage facility.
A security camera.
A person carrying my father’s box.
I looked closer.
My heart dropped.
Because the person in the photo wasn’t my mother.
It wasn’t Melissa.
May you like
It was someone I never expected.
And they were carrying the box six months after my father died.
