Chapter 5: Unit 314
I didn’t let Sarah come with us.
Not because I trusted her alone in the house.
Because I didn’t trust her anywhere near Unit 314.
Charles told me to photograph the rooms, lock the document box in my car, and avoid removing anything else until counsel advised me.
Then Michael and I drove to the storage facility.
Sarah stood on the porch as we left.
She didn’t wave this time.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Michael stared through the windshield.
“I already did.””
“No. You gave me pieces.””
He sighed.
“Sarah called me three months ago.””
“The refinancing document.””
“Yes.””
“What exactly did she say?””
“That you were busy and needed a witness signature.””
“And you believed her.””
“She’s my sister-in-law.””
“That isn’t an answer.””
Michael looked at me.
“I trusted her.””
“So did I.””
That ended the argument.
The storage facility was twenty minutes away, tucked behind an industrial park.
Michael pointed toward a row of orange doors.
“Building C.””
We parked.
Unit 314 was near the end.
I inserted the brass key.
It turned.
Michael touched my arm.
“James.””
“What?””
“Maybe we should wait for Charles.””
I almost agreed.
Then my phone rang.
Sarah.
I rejected it.
Immediately, she called again.
Rejected.
A text appeared.
*Do not open that unit.*
I showed Michael.
He stared at it.
“Well, now we definitely open it.””
I lifted the door.
Metal rattled overhead.
The smell hit first.
Cardboard.
Dust.
Perfume.
Sarah’s perfume.
Boxes filled most of the space.
There were also two suitcases.
A folding table.
A printer.
A shredder.
And a cheap laptop.
Michael whispered, “What the hell?””
I stepped inside.
The nearest box was labeled:
*HAWTHORNE*
I opened it.
Copies of my tax returns.
Bank statements.
My father’s death certificate.
Our marriage certificate.
Property records.
Insurance policies.
Photocopies of my driver’s license and passport.
“James.””
Michael held up another folder.
Inside were samples of my signature.
Dozens.
Old birthday cards.
Checks.
Contracts.
Even a handwritten anniversary note I’d given Sarah years earlier.
Someone had circled individual letters.
J.
H.
A.
W.
My stomach turned.
“They practiced it.””
Michael whispered, “Your signature.””
I photographed everything.
Then I noticed the printer tray.
A half-printed page sat inside.
*DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY*
My name appeared at the top.
Sarah’s appeared as agent.
The signature line was blank.
Michael stared over my shoulder.
“That’s what she wanted me to witness.””
I looked around.
“This wasn’t improvised.””
“No.””
“This took months.””
“Maybe longer.””
A car door slammed outside.
We both froze.
Footsteps approached.
Michael lowered his voice.
“Someone followed us.””
I moved toward the entrance.
A shadow crossed the concrete.
Then a woman appeared.
Mid-fifties.
Gray business suit.
Leather portfolio.
She stopped when she saw us.
“Mr. Hawthorne?””
I recognized her.
She had been with the process server.
“What are you doing here?””
She looked at the open unit.
Then at me.
“I could ask you the same.””
Michael stepped beside me.
“Who are you?””
“Elaine Porter.””
She handed me a card.
Private investigator.
I stared at her.
“You served me divorce papers.””
“I accompanied the process server.””
“Why?””
“Because I was hired to document your reaction.””
“By Sarah?””
Elaine’s expression remained neutral.
“Initially.””
“Initially?””
She glanced toward the unit.
“May we speak privately?””
Michael laughed.
“No.””
I said, “He stays.””
Elaine nodded.
“Your wife hired me four months ago.””
“To investigate me?””
“Yes.””
“For what?””
“Infidelity. Hidden assets. Financial misconduct.””
I almost smiled.
“She found nothing.””
“No.””
Elaine paused.
“That became a problem.””
I studied her.
“What do you mean?””
“She repeatedly asked me to revise my reports.””
“To say what?””
“That you were having an affair.””
Michael muttered something under his breath.
Elaine continued.
“I refused.””
“Then why were you with the process server?””
“Because Sarah still owes my agency money, and I wanted documentation that the filing had occurred.””
That explanation didn’t completely satisfy me.
“Why come here?””
Elaine looked toward the boxes.
“Because after we left your house, Sarah called me.””
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?””
“She asked me to retrieve something from this unit.””
Michael and I exchanged a look.
“What?””
Elaine pointed toward the back.
“A laptop.””
I looked at the cheap computer on the table.
“That one?””
“I assume so.””
“Why?””
“She said it contained confidential marital information.””
I stepped between Elaine and the laptop.
“It stays.””
“I agree.””
That surprised me.
Elaine opened her portfolio.
“I’m no longer working for your wife.””
“Since when?””
“About seven minutes ago.””
She showed me her phone.
A voicemail transcription.
Sarah had threatened to accuse Elaine of stealing evidence if she refused to retrieve the laptop.
Elaine looked around the storage unit.
“I’m not risking my license for this.””
I pointed toward the boxes.
“Did you know about these?””
“No.””
“Ryan?””
“I saw him twice.””
“With Sarah?””
“Yes.””
“Did you photograph them?””
Elaine hesitated.
“Yes.””
“Doing what?””
“Meeting at a motel.””
My stomach dropped.
Michael looked at me.
I said nothing.
Elaine quickly added, “I never observed romantic contact.””
That almost made it worse.
“Then what were they doing?””
“Exchanging documents.””
She removed a small flash drive from her portfolio.
“My agency keeps copies of field photographs.””
She handed it to me.
“You’ll want these.””
I stared at the drive.
“Why help me?””
“Because your wife asked me to manufacture evidence against you.””
Silence.
Elaine pointed at the laptop.
“And because whatever is on that computer frightened her enough to threaten me.””
We photographed the entire unit.
Then I called Charles.
He told us not to alter the laptop.
“Bring in counsel and preserve chain of custody,” he said.
Before leaving, I checked one suitcase.
Clothes.
Cash.
A passport.
Sarah’s passport.
The second suitcase contained men’s clothing.
Not mine.
Michael lifted a shirt.
“Ryan?””
I checked the size.
Maybe.
Then I found an envelope underneath.
Two airline tickets.
Dallas to Costa Rica.
Departure date:
Friday.
Three days away.
Passenger one:
Sarah Hawthorne.
Passenger two:
Ryan Miller.
Michael stared at me.
“So they were running.””
I kept searching.
Beneath the tickets was a printed bank summary.
Account balance:
$487,320.
My heart stopped.
Because the account holder wasn’t Sarah.
It wasn’t Ryan.
It was a trust account bearing my late father’s name.
May you like
And beside the balance was a handwritten note.
*Transfer remaining funds after James signs POA.*
