Chapter 5 - locker 17)
Union Station was nearly empty at six in the morning.
Detective Hayes wanted a tactical unit.
Claire wanted answers.
They compromised.
Hayes positioned officers throughout the station while Claire approached the lockers alone enough to avoid attracting attention.
Locker 17 was old.
Mechanical lock.
Daniel’s key fit perfectly.
Claire turned it.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
The key rotated halfway.
Then stopped.
Sophie’s voice echoed in Claire’s memory.
There was writing inside.
Carter.
Seventeen.
Claire examined the key.
A tiny number was engraved near the base.
8.
She pressed locker 8.
It opened.
Inside sat a blue folder.
Claire stared at it.
Four years.
Daniel’s voicemail.
If anyone asks about the blue folder, you have never seen it.
Hayes approached.
“Don’t touch anything yet.”
Bomb squad cleared it.
No explosives.
No tracking device.
Inside the folder were financial records.
Shell corporations.
Trust accounts.
Payments routed through Switzerland, Delaware, Singapore, and the Cayman Islands.
But one page mattered more.
A list of names.
Some were executives.
Some politicians.
Some judges.
Some charities.
Beside each name was a number.
Vanessa Blackwood: 0.
Arthur Blackwood: 12.
Margaret Blackwood: 17.
Preston Blackwood: 17.
Daniel Carter: X.
Claire looked at Hayes.
“What are the numbers?”
Hayes photographed everything.
“No idea.”
At the bottom was another handwritten note.
17 is not a project.
It is a room.
Claire read it twice.
Then she found the photograph.
It showed a basement corridor.
Concrete walls.
A red door marked 17.
On the back:
Briarwood.
Vanessa recognized the name when Claire called her.
“Briarwood was my grandfather’s estate.”
“Where?”
“Upstate New York.”
“Does your family still own it?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
Vanessa was quiet.
“It burned down eighteen years ago.”
Claire looked at the photograph.
The building did not look burned.
“When was this picture taken?”
Hayes checked the timestamp printed along the edge.
“Five years ago.”
One year before Daniel died.
Claire closed her eyes.
The photograph proved somebody had lied about Briarwood for more than a decade.
They left the station through a secure exit.
A police vehicle waited.
As Claire approached, her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU OPENED THE WRONG LOCKER.
Another message arrived.
A photograph.
Sophie sleeping in the law firm apartment.
Taken less than ten minutes earlier.
Claire stopped walking.
Hayes saw her face.
“What?”
Claire handed over the phone.
Hayes immediately called the protection detail.
No response.
Then another photograph arrived.
Sophie was awake.
Standing near the apartment door.
Claire called her daughter.
No answer.
“Move!” Hayes shouted.
They raced toward the car.
Claire’s phone rang.
Sophie.
She answered instantly.
“Sophie?”
“Mommy?”
Claire nearly collapsed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the police?”
“They’re sleeping.”
Claire looked at Hayes.
“What do you mean sleeping?”
“The man said they were tired.”
Claire’s blood turned cold.
“What man?”
“He’s in the kitchen.”
Hayes grabbed the phone.
“Sophie, listen carefully. Go into the bathroom. Lock the door.”
“But he said he knows Daddy.”
Claire took the phone back.
“Sophie, do exactly what Detective Hayes says.”
Sophie became quiet.
Then whispered.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“The man has Daddy’s watch.”
Claire stopped breathing.
Daniel’s watch had never been recovered from the crash.
“Sophie, go to the bathroom now.”
Footsteps sounded through the phone.
A man spoke in the distance.
“Sophie?”
Claire recognized the voice.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Not because she knew the man.
May you like
Because the voice sounded almost exactly like Daniel.
The call ended.
