Chapter 9 - The Safe-Deposit Box
Daniel called 911 while Rebecca drove them toward Thomas’s apartment.
Thomas stayed on the line.
“Can you see his face?” Daniel asked.
“Through the peephole. Mid-forties. Bald. Blue bank jacket.”
“Bank employees don’t make house calls at one in the morning.”
“I know.”
The man knocked again.
“Mr. Carter, your property may have been compromised.”
Thomas whispered, “He has the box.”
Daniel said, “Back away from the door.”
Thomas did.
For thirty seconds, nothing happened.
Then the doorknob moved.
Someone had a key.
Thomas swore and shoved a dining chair under the handle.
The lock turned.
The chair jumped.
Daniel could hear it over the phone.
“Police are two minutes away,” he said.
The man outside pushed harder.
Thomas grabbed the old baseball bat he kept beside the coat closet.
“Dad, stay back.”
“I am back.”
The chair scraped.
Then sirens sounded in the distance.
The pressure stopped.
Footsteps ran down the hallway.
By the time police arrived, the man was gone.
But the metal box sat outside Thomas’s door.
Rebecca stopped Daniel from touching it.
Police photographed everything and called a bomb technician out of caution. The box was eventually opened in the apartment kitchen.
Empty.
Thomas stared at it.
“The originals were in there?” Daniel asked.
“Yes. Patent sketches. Letters from Arthur. Copies of payments. Everything.”
Rebecca asked, “Who knew about the box?”
Thomas thought.
“Daniel. My old attorney, but he died six years ago. And…”
He stopped.
“And who?”
“Arthur.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Arthur Whitmore knew?”
“He helped me open it. Back when we were friends.”
Rebecca paced slowly. “Then the information could have remained in Whitmore family records.”
A police officer entered carrying a small clear evidence bag.
“We found this in the hallway near the stairs.”
Inside was a hotel key card.
The same hotel where the wedding had taken place.
The officer said, “Security is checking the encoded access.”
Ten minutes later, he returned.
“The card was issued today.”
Daniel already knew the answer would hurt.
“To whom?”
The officer looked at his notes.
“Room 1814. Registered to Victor Hale.”
Rebecca’s phone rang before anyone could speak.
It was Malik.
“I found where the money went before the Cayman account,” he said.
Rebecca put him on speaker.
“A domestic account received a temporary pass-through deposit. The account belongs to a trust.”
“What trust?” Daniel asked.
Malik hesitated.
“The Madeline Whitmore Carter Family Trust.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Daniel stared at the empty metal box.
May you like
The trust had been created that morning.
Three hours before he said “I do.”
