Chapter 7
Agent Hale brought the police.
Of course he did.
He also brought federal agents, tactical officers, and enough vehicles to fill half the block.
The address led to an abandoned printing warehouse on Chicago’s West Side.
I wasn’t allowed to go.
That did not stop me from demanding updates every five minutes.
At 11:18 p.m., Hale called.
“No body.”
My chest loosened slightly.
“David?”
“Gone.”
“Blood?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Ethan.”
“How much?”
“Enough that someone was injured. Not enough to establish someone died there.”
“What else?”
“Signs of a struggle.”
“Was the phone there?”
“No.”
“Then maybe he escaped.”
“Maybe.”
I hated that word.
“Did you find who attacked him?”
“No.”
“Did you find anything useful?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of what?”
“You.”
I went cold.
Hale continued.
“It was taken yesterday.”
Yesterday.
I had spent most of yesterday at the auto shop.
Then I walked to Mrs. Alvarez’s apartment.
Someone had followed me.
“Where?”
“Outside a convenience store.”
I remembered stopping for a bottle of water.
I had counted coins in my hand because I was twelve cents short.
The cashier gave it to me anyway.
Somewhere nearby, someone was photographing the future owner of forty-eight million dollars while I was counting nickels.
“What was written on it?”
“How did you know something was written?”
“Because you wouldn’t mention a random picture.”
Hale sighed.
“On the back: ‘He has the letter.’”
My throat tightened.
Dad’s letter.
Someone knew Mrs. Alvarez gave it to me.
“Is she safe?”
“We already sent officers.”
I sat up on the bed.
“What do you mean already?”
“I figured you’d ask.”
“And?”
“She’s safe.”
“Did anyone follow her?”
“We’re checking.”
I rubbed my face.
It was after midnight.
I had not slept properly in two days.
“Are we going to Box 317 tomorrow?”
“We’re evaluating.”
“That means no.”
“It means evaluating.”
“I’m going with or without you.”
Hale was quiet.
“Don’t threaten federal agents with running away.”
“I’m not running away. I’m going to Wisconsin.”
“You’re thirteen.”
“Everyone remembers that whenever it’s convenient.”
“Ethan.”
“Good night.”
I hung up.
I didn’t sleep.
At 6:30 a.m., I went downstairs.
George was making coffee.
He looked at me.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a gift.”
He poured orange juice into a glass.
“Sit.”
I sat.
Linda joined us.
Nobody mentioned the trust.
Nobody asked questions.
That almost made me suspicious too.
George finally said, “Agent Hale called.”
I looked up.
“What did he say?”
“That he would be here at eight.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
At 7:58, Hale arrived.
With Maria.
And a woman I had never seen.
She wore a charcoal suit and carried a narrow briefcase.
“This is Laura Chen,” Hale said. “Court-appointed attorney for you.”
I frowned.
“I didn’t ask for one.”
Laura sat across from me.
“That’s probably why you need one.”
I liked her immediately.
She opened her briefcase.
“Rebecca’s emergency guardianship authority has been temporarily suspended.”
My heart jumped.
“Why?”
“Potential financial misconduct, physical assault, abandonment concerns, and the conflict of interest involving your trust.”
“Where is she?”
“Released pending investigation.”
I didn’t like that.
“Charles?”
“Also free.”
“Mr. Harris?”
Hale answered.
“Suspended by the bank. We found communications between him and someone associated with Vance Legal.”
“Someone?”
“An investigator named Paul Mercer.”
“Did Harris tell him I was at the bank?”
“We believe so.”
“Did he know about the forty-six-million-dollar transfer?”
“Possibly.”
I remembered him pushing me.
Maybe he had just been cruel.
Maybe he had wanted me gone before the account opened.
“What happens to him?”
“Investigation first.”
That frustrated me.
People in movies got arrested as soon as somebody discovered the truth.
Real life apparently involved forms.
Laura slid a document toward me.
“Now we need to talk about your trust.”
“I don’t care about the money right now.”
“You should.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because somebody does.”
That shut me up.
She continued.
“If your trust documents are genuine, your father created a structure where you cannot directly control the core assets until later.”
“How much later?”
“Twenty-five.”
“That’s twelve years.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m rich but can’t use it?”
“You can receive reasonable support, education, housing, medical care, and approved personal expenses.”
“I don’t want a mansion.”
“Good. Mansions are expensive.”
Hale almost smiled.
Laura continued.
“The important part is control. Until the trust protector issue is resolved, major transfers require multiple approvals.”
“Samuel is dead.”
“We have not confirmed that.”
“David said he was.”
“David may be wrong.”
“Or lying.”
Laura nodded.
“Exactly.”
At least she didn’t pretend everyone had good intentions.
I looked at Hale.
“Are we going to Lake Geneva?”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
I stood immediately.
“Now?”
“After breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Linda placed a plate of eggs in front of me.
“You are.”
Apparently federal investigations stopped for breakfast.
An hour later, I was in an SUV between Hale and Laura.
Another vehicle followed.
Nobody told Rebecca.
Nobody told Charles.
We drove north.
The farther we got from Chicago, the more memories returned.
Dad singing badly with the radio.
Dad refusing GPS because he said he knew a shortcut.
Dad getting us lost because he did not know a shortcut.
For the first time since this started, I smiled.
Hale noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was almost a normal expression.”
“I’m capable of those.”
“Rarely.”
I looked out the window.
“Dad used to drive this route.”
Hale didn’t ask more.
Good.
Reed Secure Storage sat outside Lake Geneva behind a tall iron fence.
No giant sign.
No bright office.
Just a brick building and rows of private units.
A woman named Margaret Wells met us at the gate.
She was nearly seventy.
Silver hair.
Sharp eyes.
When she saw me, she began crying.
“Michael’s boy.”
I froze.
“You knew my dad?”
She covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because you have his eyes.”
Adults always said things like that after someone died.
I never knew what to do with it.
Hale showed identification.
Margaret nodded.
“I knew this day might come.”
“Samuel Reed?” Hale asked.
Her face changed.
“You’re late.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is he dead?”
She looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“But you said we’re late.”
“Samuel left three years ago.”
“Where?”
“He never said.”
“Did David Carter come here?”
Margaret looked surprised.
“Last week.”
Everyone went still.
“Last week?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Box 317.”
My heart pounded.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“He couldn’t.”
“So he told the truth,” I whispered.
Margaret looked at me strangely.
“About what?”
“That it needs me.”
She nodded.
“Michael made sure of that.”
Hale glanced around.
“Any security issues recently?”
Margaret smiled without humor.
“Three break-in attempts in four years.”
“When was the latest?”
“Last night.”
Hale’s hand immediately moved toward his jacket.
“Successful?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Camera caught a masked man.”
“Where is the footage?”
“Office.”
Two agents moved away with her assistant.
Margaret looked at me.
“You have the key?”
Hale held up the evidence pouch.
“Yes.”
“Then come.”
She led us inside.
Not to the storage units.
To an elevator.
We went underground.
The lower level looked nothing like a storage facility.
Concrete hallway.
Steel doors.
Cameras.
Margaret stopped at a scanner.
“Michael paid for this section himself.”
I stared at her.
“For one box?”
“Not exactly.”
The scanner read my face.
A light turned green.
Then a voice spoke.
“Identity preliminary match.”
My skin prickled.
Margaret smiled sadly.
“Your father loved technology.”
A second panel opened.
It required my right hand.
Hale looked at me.
“Still want to do this?”
“Yes.”
I placed my palm against the glass.
The machine scanned.
“Biometric match confirmed. Ethan Michael Carter.”
A heavy lock released.
The steel door opened.
Inside was a room.
Not a box.
Shelves lined the walls.
Files.
Hard drives.
Sealed cases.
A desk.
And directly ahead stood a large metal cabinet marked 317.
I stopped breathing.
“Dad built all this?”
Margaret nodded.
I walked slowly toward the cabinet.
The silver key fit.
I turned it.
Nothing happened.
Then a small screen lit up.
ENTER SECOND AUTHORIZATION.
“What authorization?” Hale asked.
Margaret shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I remembered David’s words.
The key is only half.
You are the other half.
But my fingerprint had already been used.
I searched the cabinet.
On the screen was one tiny symbol.
A microphone.
I stared at it.
Then remembered something Dad used to say every night before bed.
Even after I got too old to admit I liked hearing it.
Three words.
“Stay brave, Bear.”
Bear was his nickname for me.
I leaned toward the microphone.
“Stay brave, Bear.”
The cabinet clicked.
Everyone stared.
The door slowly opened.
Inside was a laptop.
A sealed envelope.
A small recorder.
And a red folder.
Across the folder, my father had written:
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, SOMEBODY BETRAYED ME.
My fingers shook as I opened it.
The first page contained one name.
Not Rebecca.
Not Charles.
Not David.
I read it twice.
Then looked at Agent Hale.
“What?”
he asked.
I turned the page toward him.
Hale’s face went white.
At the top was his own name.
MARCUS HALE.
May you like
And beneath it, in my father’s handwriting:
DO NOT TRUST THIS MAN.
