Chapter 7 - The Camera Next Door
Before we drove to the storage facility, Mrs. Ellis knocked on my kitchen door.
She carried her tablet beneath one arm and a covered dish in both hands.
“I brought breakfast,” she said. “And something you need to see.”
Emma and Olivia were awake but quiet.
Daniel remained at the kitchen table.
Mrs. Ellis set down the dish, opened her tablet, and accessed her doorbell-camera recordings.
“My camera captures part of your porch and driveway,” she explained.
The first video began at 12:18 a.m.
Gerald walked from our front door toward the blue minivan. He opened the rear hatch and removed two empty suitcases.
Three minutes later, he carried the suitcases upstairs.
The next recording began at 12:26.
Marlene emerged carrying framed photographs from our mantel.
She placed them inside the minivan.
One of the photographs showed my father standing beside Emma at the Oregon coast.
Marlene handled it carelessly, dropping it onto a pile of boxes.
The next clip began at 12:31.
Gerald stood near the security panel inside the doorway while speaking to someone on his phone.
The camera could not capture every word, but the sound was clear enough.
“The owner access is gone,” Gerald said. “File it before morning.”
Maya leaned closer to the screen.
“Play that again.”
Mrs. Ellis replayed it.
The owner access is gone. File it before morning.
“Who was he speaking to?” I asked.
“We need the phone records,” Maya said.
Another clip showed Emma appearing in the doorway with her backpack.
Gerald followed her.
“You do not get to challenge me in my son’s house,” he said.
Emma turned around.
“It’s my mom’s house.”
Gerald took the backpack from her shoulder.
Daniel appeared behind them.
“Dad, just stop.”
Gerald placed the backpack beside the curb.
“You wanted me to handle this,” he told Daniel. “Now let me handle it.”
Daniel said nothing.
Marlene came outside carrying the grocery bag.
Emma looked at her father.
“Are you really letting them do this?”
Daniel remained on the porch.
“I think everyone should calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“Then stay with Sophie tonight.”
“I have school.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“You’re sending me away?”
Gerald answered for him.
“You are choosing to leave because you refuse to respect the family.”
Emma looked at Daniel again.
“Dad?”
He lowered his eyes.
The video ended when Emma walked out of the camera’s range.
No one followed her.
No one offered her a coat.
No one checked whether Mrs. Ellis opened the door.
Daniel pushed his chair away from the table.
“I can’t watch this.”
Emma’s voice stopped him.
“I had to live it.”
He froze.
Mrs. Ellis closed the tablet.
“I am sorry, sweetheart.”
Emma nodded, staring at the table.
Daniel sat again.
“I failed you.”
“Yes,” Emma said.
The directness of her answer made him flinch.
“I was afraid of making things worse.”
“You made them worse for me.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that now.”
Daniel covered his face with both hands.
Emma stood.
“I don’t want another apology today.”
She left the kitchen.
Olivia followed her a moment later.
Mrs. Ellis gave Maya copies of the recordings. She had also saved footage from earlier in the week.
In one clip, Gerald photographed my driver’s license while my purse rested on the kitchen counter.
In another, Marlene carried Emma’s birth certificate from upstairs and placed it on the dining-room table.
Daniel watched the videos in silence.
The final clip was recorded two nights earlier.
A black sedan stopped across the street at 11:14 p.m.
A man wearing a dark raincoat walked to our porch.
Gerald met him outside and handed him an envelope.
The man returned a set of keys.
Maya paused the video.
“Do you recognize him?”
I did not.
Daniel leaned forward.
“I do.”
“Who is he?”
“Aaron Pike.”
“The revoked notary?”
Daniel nodded.
“He used to handle paperwork for my father’s business.”
“What business?” I asked.
Daniel looked at me.
“Hart Restoration Services.”
I had heard that name only once.
Gerald had owned a small construction company years earlier. According to Daniel, the company closed after a partner stole money and disappeared.
Maya searched the name.
The company had not closed.
It had changed names.
Hart Restoration Services had become HRS Property Recovery.
The registered manager was no longer Gerald.
It was Aaron Pike.
A list of recent court filings appeared beneath the company’s record.
Seven civil complaints.
Three allegations of forged property transfers.
Two elderly homeowners claiming their houses had been placed into HRS-controlled trusts without informed consent.
Maya stared at the screen.
“This is not only about your house.”
My phone rang.
The number belonged to the storage facility.
May you like
The manager’s voice was breathless.
“Ms. Moore, someone just broke into Unit 214.”
