Chapter 7 - Warehouse 12
Warehouse 12 had been empty for three years.
At least on paper.
Detective Owens obtained a warrant after finding that Merritt had continued paying electricity on the building long after it was supposedly abandoned.
I was not allowed inside.
Neither was Daniel.
We waited behind the police tape in a gravel lot while Mark spoke with investigators.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
At sunset, Owens came out carrying a cardboard evidence box.
Daniel walked toward her immediately.
“Did you find Chloe?”
“No.”
His shoulders dropped.
“But we found proof she was here.”
Inside the warehouse were old payroll ledgers, contractor files, insurance claim copies, and a folding cot in a locked office.
On the wall beside the cot, investigators found writing scratched into the paint.
C.S. 8/12.
Daniel covered his mouth.
August twelfth was six days before Nina’s crash.
“Why would she stay there?” I asked.
Owens looked at Mark.
He answered.
“Because Nina was hiding her.”
Daniel turned sharply.
“You knew?”
“No. Not until now.”
Then an officer called from the doorway.
“Detective, we found a floor safe.”
They opened it forty minutes later.
Inside were cash, passports, flash drives, and a small notebook.
The notebook belonged to Nina.
Her handwriting was cramped and rushed.
One line appeared again and again.
C is alive. V thinks she is gone.
Then, near the final page:
If anything happens to me, Laura Bennett has the key and doesn’t know it.
I stared at my own name.
“What key?” Daniel asked.
“I have no idea.”
Mark looked just as confused.
Owens flipped the page.
There was one more sentence.
Blue bird. Kitchen drawer. Christmas 2023.
My chest tightened.
Christmas 2023.
Nina had come to our house for Mark’s company holiday dinner.
She gave me a small ceramic bluebird as a hostess gift.
I had put it in the junk drawer when Ethan knocked it off the shelf and broke one wing.
I had never thrown it away.
We drove home under police escort.
I opened the kitchen drawer with shaking hands.
The bluebird was still there.
When I picked it up, something rattled inside.
Mark found a screwdriver.
We removed the felt base.
A tiny brass key dropped into my palm.
Attached to it was a metal tag.
214.
Daniel whispered, “Locker number.”
Owens was already reaching for her phone.
Then Ethan walked into the kitchen behind us.
May you like
He looked at the key.
And said, “That’s the same number the man wrote on Dad’s wall.”
