Chapter 3 - The Blue Box
I reported the message to the police before I tried to sleep.
The officer who took my statement could document the apparent threat, but she could not identify its sender from a screenshot.
She advised me to preserve the original message and call again if anyone tried to enter my apartment.
I wedged a chair beneath the door handle anyway.
At seven the next morning, I was standing outside my father's storage facility while buses hissed along the wet street.
The manager, a patient woman named Denise, checked my identification against the account.
"Your father listed you as the person authorized to access it," she said.
"He died eight years ago."
"I'm sorry. The account's been prepaid annually."
"By whom?"
Denise turned the screen so I could see only the account number and billing status.
"I can tell you the card on file is not yours. I can't disclose the cardholder's identity without the proper authorization."
She did, however, confirm that a maintenance log showed one lock replacement seventeen months earlier.
"The request was submitted online."
"From my account?"
"From the account login."
Someone had known the password my father used before his death.
The unit smelled of cedar, dust, and the motor oil he had brought home after every shift at the bus garage.
At the back stood a blue steel toolbox with a shiny new padlock.
The box could have held nothing more dangerous than old wrenches.
I photographed it in place.
Then I called the police nonemergency line to add the suspicious account access to my previous report.
I did not know whether anyone had committed a crime.
I knew only that I had been warned away from something that belonged to my family.
Denise showed me the facility's procedure for opening an authorized customer's lock.
Once the replacement was witnessed and recorded, the lid came free.
Inside were a children's birthday candle, a yellowed menu, my mother's battered recipe notebook, and a folder bound with a red elastic band.
The folder contained an unsigned draft marked OPERATING AGREEMENT — BELLADONNA MARKET LLC.
Under MEMBER INTERESTS, Marta Reyes was listed as thirty percent.
Vincent Bellini held forty percent.
Gabriel Hale held thirty percent.
Someone had circled the paragraph requiring written approval by all members before any transfer of a share.
There was also a photocopy of a check for forty thousand dollars, payable to the company from an account in my mother's name.
It was dated seven months before the fire.
The documents weren't enough to prove the business still owed my family anything.
They were enough to make Vincent's reaction understandable.
A folded page fell from the recipe book when I lifted it.
It was written in my mother's slanted hand.
Dear Dani,
If Vincent says the papers are gone, don't believe him. Gabriel wanted the original, but I kept the duplicate ledger where flour wouldn't reach it. If I can't get the signatures corrected, promise me Elena will know I didn't give away what we built.
At the bottom, underlined twice, were the words OLD MARKET FREEZER.
I read them until they blurred.
The fire had destroyed the original market, and the upscale restaurant stood on the same footprint.
Was there a freezer left?
Had the note referred to a storage site?
I could not know.
I called Teresa again.
No answer.
I called a second time, then sent a message asking her to let me know she was safe.
Before leaving, I asked Denise for copies of the access log and payment history.
She explained that some records would require a formal request.
I wrote down exactly what she said.
At Harbor Row's office, a receptionist directed me to a narrow room with a conference table and no windows.
A lawyer introduced himself as Bennett Shaw.
He wore a pale blue tie and did not offer a handshake.
"We're prepared to resolve your employment dispute amicably," he said.
He pushed an agreement toward me.
In exchange for eighteen hundred dollars, I would waive potential claims related to my separation from Belladonna, agree not to disparage Vincent or his companies, and surrender any documents relating to the restaurant's historical ownership.
The last clause made my stomach turn.
"My mother's papers have nothing to do with my shifts."
"They're being requested as a goodwill measure."
"Then remove that part."
He smiled faintly.
"The offer expires at noon."
I photographed the document after he allowed me to take a copy.
"I need independent advice."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Bennett glanced at the clock.
"Then you should understand that Vincent isn't the party most concerned about the photograph."
"Who is?"
His gaze shifted toward the door.
"You didn't hear this from me, Ms. Reyes."
He leaned close enough that I could smell coffee on his breath.
"Gabriel Hale thinks your mother left a second ledger. And if she did, he thinks you've already found it."
My phone vibrated under the table.
Teresa had finally answered me.
May you like
Her message contained five words.
HE'S IN MY KITCHEN, ELENA.
