Chapter 8: The Storage Unit Behind the Airport
David immediately contacted the investigator.
He refused to let Dad or me rush into the storage facility without law enforcement.
"Listen carefully," he said.
"If Daniel and Vanessa are involved in destroying evidence, confronting them could make this situation much worse.""
Dad paced across the living room.
"My daughter's future is sitting in some storage unit, and you want me to wait?""
"I want you to avoid giving them an opportunity to destroy it.""
Kayla sat on the couch, clutching a pillow.
She looked exhausted.
I approached her.
"How do you know about the storage unit?""
She looked up.
"Mom asked me to drive her there last week.""
"Why?""
"She said she needed to collect some old family documents.""
"What did you see?""
Kayla hesitated.
"Daniel was there.""
"Did you speak to him?""
"No. Mom told me to wait in the car.""
I folded my arms.
"And you didn't think that was strange?""
She shook her head.
"I thought they were handling some financial issue.""
"Kayla, my mother's money was disappearing.""
"I know.""
"How could you not ask?""
Her eyes filled.
"Because I didn't want to know.""
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Before I could respond, David received a call.
He listened, wrote something down, and ended the conversation.
"The investigator has obtained authorization to inspect the storage unit. We're going now.""
Dad grabbed his jacket.
"I'm coming.""
David nodded.
"You're welcome to accompany us, but you must follow their instructions.""
I stood.
"I'm coming too.""
Dad immediately shook his head.
"Absolutely not.""
"Those documents belong to my mother.""
"Emily, I don't want you caught in the middle of this.""
I looked him in the eyes.
"She left them for me. I think I've spent enough time being told to stay out of my own inheritance.""
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
"Stay beside me.""
The storage facility was located about twenty minutes from our house.
Rows of metal doors stretched across a large concrete building.
A security guard met the investigators at the entrance.
David showed him the paperwork.
The guard checked his computer.
"Unit 214," he said.
"The access code was used yesterday afternoon.""
"Who entered?"" the investigator asked.
The guard looked at the screen.
"Daniel Whitmore.""
My stomach tightened.
"Was anyone with him?"" I asked.
The guard hesitated.
"Yes. A woman.""
David showed him Vanessa's photograph.
The guard nodded.
"That's her.""
The investigator requested the access records and security footage.
Then he opened the unit.
The metal door rolled upward with a loud grinding noise.
Inside were cardboard boxes, old office furniture, filing cabinets, and several plastic containers.
At first glance, it looked like ordinary storage.
Then I noticed something.
A large cardboard box had my mother's handwriting on it.
ELIZABETH CARTER — PERSONAL.
I stepped closer.
"That's hers.""
Dad moved beside me.
David carefully examined the box before allowing the investigator to open it.
Inside were old photographs, medical records, handwritten letters, and financial statements.
I found a photograph of my mother holding me as a baby.
I touched the edge.
"She kept everything.""
Dad looked away.
Then the investigator opened a filing cabinet.
There were dozens of documents arranged by date.
Bank statements.
Trust amendments.
Property records.
And a folder labeled EMILY CARTER.
My hands began shaking.
David opened it.
The first document was a copy of my birth certificate.
The second was my Social Security card.
The third was a photocopy of my mother's death certificate.
I frowned.
"Why would someone keep these?""
David examined the folder.
"These documents could have been used to establish financial accounts or verify your identity.""
Then I saw another sheet.
It was a handwritten list.
Several dates were followed by dollar amounts.
$15,000.
$22,500.
$48,000.
At the bottom was a note:
Remaining balance to be transferred after Emily turns eighteen.
Dad's face tightened.
"They planned to take everything.""
The investigator photographed the page.
Then he found a small black envelope tucked inside the folder.
It contained a USB drive.
David turned it over.
A label had been written across the front.
ELIZABETH — ORIGINAL.
I looked at him.
"Is that the recording?""
"Possibly.""
The investigator secured the device.
Then another officer called from the back of the storage unit.
"Sir, you need to see this.""
He had discovered a second filing cabinet hidden behind a stack of boxes.
Inside were documents related to the purchase of our house.
The original down-payment transfer showed $210,000 coming directly from the Carter Family Trust.
But the next document was even more disturbing.
It was a mortgage application.
My father was listed as the primary applicant.
Vanessa was listed as his spouse.
And a third person appeared under the section marked financial guarantor.
Daniel Whitmore.
Dad looked confused.
"I never agreed to Daniel guaranteeing our mortgage.""
David examined the signature.
"Richard, this application appears to contain your signature.""
"That's impossible.""
The investigator took photographs.
Then he opened the final drawer.
There was a sealed envelope with my name.
Emily Carter.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My mother's.
David looked at me.
"Would you like to open it?""
I nodded.
Inside was a single handwritten page.
My dearest Emily,
If this letter has reached you, something has gone terribly wrong.
I have reason to believe that someone close to our family may attempt to take control of your inheritance.
I have already taken steps to prevent that from happening.
But there is one person I haven't told your father about.
If you ever find yourself questioning who you can trust, remember the night I took you to the hospital when you were six years old.
I stopped reading.
I remembered that night.
I'd fallen from a tree in our backyard and broken my arm.
My mother had taken me to the emergency room while Dad was traveling for work.
Why had she mentioned it?
I continued.
The doctor who treated you that night was more than a doctor. He was someone I trusted with the truth.
His name is Dr. Samuel Reed.
I looked at David.
"Do you know him?""
David shook his head.
Then I turned the letter over.
There was another sentence written at the bottom.
He knows who really signed the trust amendment.
Before I could ask another question, the investigator's radio crackled.
A colleague had just identified a vehicle entering the facility's parking lot.
The investigator looked through the open storage door.
Then he turned to David.
"Daniel Whitmore has just arrived.""
Dad stepped forward.
"Where is he?""
The investigator raised his hand.
"Stay back.""
A man's voice echoed from the corridor.
"Why are there police officers inside my unit?""
David turned toward the entrance.
Daniel Whitmore stood there holding a briefcase.
He looked directly at the documents spread across the floor.
Then his eyes landed on me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Finally, he whispered:
"Emily Carter.""
I stepped forward.
"Why did you steal my mother's money?""
His expression changed.
Then he looked at the USB drive in the investigator's hand.
May you like
And said something none of us expected.
"Because your mother never wanted you to receive the inheritance.""
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