Chapter 10 - The Best Man's House
I called Samuel twelve times while police drove to his house.
He never answered.
On the thirteenth call, someone did.
A woman's recorded voice said the number was no longer in service.
"He dumped it," the detective said.
Samuel's front door was unlocked.
No car in the garage.
No suitcase in the bedroom.
No laptop on the desk.
He had left fast but not blindly.
Police found the first hidden compartment behind a false panel in his study.
The smell hit me before I saw what was inside.
Cedar.
Claire looked at me.
"The envelope."
The cabinet was lined with cedar planks.
Inside sat labeled files.
RICHARD - MEDICAL.
CLAIRE - LEGAL.
MARGARET - NOTES.
VANESSA - LEVERAGE.
BRENT - DEBT.
I opened the Vanessa file with a gloved hand.
Photographs.
Bankruptcy records.
A private investigator's report dated two months before Vanessa and I supposedly met by chance at a museum fundraiser.
Claire read the first page.
"He selected her."
My stomach twisted.
Samuel had introduced himself to Vanessa through an intermediary. He had paid off one of Brent's business debts. He had provided a list of charities I supported and restaurants I used.
He had built the coincidence.
A detective opened another drawer.
"We have burner phones. At least six."
Martin found a stack of printed emails.
"Richard."
One email contained instructions for sending anonymous evidence to Claire.
Same wording.
CHECK THE TUESDAYS.
Claire stepped back from the cabinet.
"He warned me."
"He needed you investigating," I said.
"Why?"
I looked at the file labeled CONTINUITY.
"Because he needed me frightened enough to sign."
A detective lifted a framed photograph from the bottom shelf.
Margaret stood outside our first factory, laughing at someone beside her.
The right edge had been torn away.
Half an arm remained.
A man's suit sleeve.
Claire touched the air above it without making contact.
"Who was standing next to Mom?"
My phone vibrated.
Samuel's old number.
A text.
One image downloaded.
Noah's preschool playground.
My grandson stood near a blue climbing frame, holding a teacher's hand.
The timestamp was forty-seven minutes earlier.
Claire made a sound I had never heard from her before.
Then a second message arrived.
May you like
YOU KEEP DIGGING, YOU LOSE THE BOY.
