Chapter 12 - The Warehouse
Police didn’t want me anywhere near the warehouse.
I agreed.
Then I went anyway.
Not inside.
Not close.
I rode in the back of Ortiz’s unmarked SUV because Nia was stable, guarded by two officers, and because the flash drive had changed everything.
It contained accounting records.
Payments from Fletcher Rowe Financial to Owen Price.
Payments before Andre’s crash.
Payments after Owen’s release from prison.
And one scanned memo written by Andre three days before he died.
If anything happens to me, review account 7714. M.R. is moving client funds through custodial trusts.
My husband had known.
He tried to report it.
Martin killed him for it.
The settlement that created Nia’s trust came from the crash.
Then Martin spent years stealing from the very money Andre’s death had produced.
I had no words for that kind of evil.
The warehouse was near the river.
Police entered from three sides.
We heard shots almost immediately.
Ortiz ordered me down behind the SUV.
I obeyed for maybe ten seconds.
Then an officer ran out shouting for a medic.
Another shot.
Glass shattered.
I saw movement at a side door.
Caleb stumbled out.
Blood on his sleeve.
Hands raised.
“Don’t shoot!”
Police forced him to the ground.
He kept yelling one thing.
“Inside! Owen’s inside!”
Ortiz ran forward.
I stayed where I was.
This time.
Minutes later, Owen Price was brought out in cuffs.
Alive.
Martin was not with him.
Caleb looked at me from the pavement.
His face was bruised.
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
He laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I know.”
Ortiz searched the warehouse.
They found rope.
A gun.
Burner phones.
And a printed floor plan of the hospital.
But no Martin.
Then an officer brought out a laptop.
On the screen was a live location tracker.
One dot.
Moving.
Fast.
Ortiz zoomed in.
My stomach dropped.
The dot was heading toward a familiar address.
My address.
“Our house,” I said.
Caleb pushed himself up on one elbow.
“No.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t want the house.”
His face went white.
“He wants the safe.”
“What safe?”
Caleb stared at me.
“Andre’s safe.”
I had never known Andre had one.
Caleb looked terrified.
“He hid it inside your basement wall.”
I grabbed Ortiz’s arm.
“What’s in it?”
Caleb answered.
“The original evidence Martin has been trying to find for seven years.”
We reached my house after police had already surrounded it.
Martin was inside.
That much was obvious.
The basement window was broken.
The alarm panel had been ripped from the wall.
Ortiz ordered me to stay across the street.
I hated her for it.
She was right.
Caleb was taken back to the station under guard. Owen went to county lockup.
I stood in my neighbor’s driveway while tactical officers entered the house I had raised my daughter in.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then a radio crackled.
“Basement clear.”
“Suspect not located.”
How?
Officers searched the first floor.
Nothing.
Second floor.
Nothing.
Then one of them found the hidden panel.
Behind the basement shelves was a narrow cavity.
Inside: an old black safe.
Open.
Empty.
Martin had beaten us there.
But he had left something.
A cassette recorder.
Detective Ortiz brought it outside in an evidence bag.
“There’s a tape inside.”
“Play it.”
“We need to process—”
“Please.”
Maybe she saw my face.
Maybe she was tired too.
She put on gloves, used a portable player from the evidence kit, and pressed play.
Static.
Then Andre’s voice.
Seven years vanished in one second.
“Denise, if you ever hear this…”
I covered my mouth.
Andre continued.
“I’m sorry. I thought I could fix it before it reached you.”
He sounded tired.
Scared.
“I copied everything. Martin is using trusts to hide theft. If I disappear, the originals are in the safe.”
The tape clicked.
Then another voice entered.
Martin.
Faint.
Recorded from a distance.
“You should’ve taken the money, Andre.”
My whole body shook.
Andre answered, “You’re stealing from dead people’s children.”
Martin laughed.
Then the recording ended.
Ortiz stopped the tape.
I could not move.
After seven years of wondering what Andre’s last thoughts were, I knew.
Us.
It was us.
An officer approached.
“Detective, we found tire tracks behind the property.”
“Direction?”
“East.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Again.
I answered.
Martin’s voice was calm.
“Beautiful recording, isn’t it?”
I stopped breathing.
“Where are you?”
“Closer than you think.”
“You’re finished.”
“No, Denise.”
He laughed softly.
“Your husband hid more than evidence.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask your daughter what Andre gave her before he died.”
I looked at Ortiz.
Then at the house.
And suddenly remembered Nia’s old silver locket.
May you like
The one she had worn since she was seven.
The one Andre gave her the morning of the crash.
