Chapter 11 - The Bank Vault
First Federal opened at nine.
We were there at eight forty-five with Detective Brooks, two officers, the bank manager, and enough paperwork to make everyone nervous.
Mother’s attorneys had already filed an emergency motion claiming I was exploiting a “family misunderstanding” to seize control of the trust.
A family misunderstanding.
My wife had been locked under a floor.
I wanted to frame that phrase and hang it in the lobby of Reed Development.
The bank manager led us downstairs.
“We received no request to access Box 614 this week,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Brooks asked.
“Yes.”
Relief lasted ten seconds.
Then he opened the record log.
“Last access was nine days ago.”
Amelia went still.
“The day before I disappeared.”
“Who signed in?” I asked.
The manager turned the page toward us.
Thomas Reed.
My dead father.
Nobody spoke.
Brooks photographed the signature. “Camera footage?”
“Archived for ninety days.”
We watched it in a security office.
At 3:14 p.m., a man in a baseball cap entered the vault corridor using Dad’s name and identification credentials.
He kept his face down.
But when he signed the form, his sleeve pulled back.
A watch appeared on his wrist.
Silver case. Blue face. Scratched bezel.
My father’s watch.
The watch Michael had worn at Christmas.
The watch he claimed Dad gave him.
Brooks froze the frame.
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
The bank manager looked ill. “Then he had the key.”
We opened Box 614 using a court-authorized drill.
Inside sat one folder.
Empty.
No audit.
No invoices.
No thumb drive.
Only a white index card.
Amelia picked it up.
Her face lost color.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She turned it over.
Three words were written in black ink.
ASK YOUR MOTHER.
Then Brooks’s phone rang.
She listened for less than a minute.
May you like
When she hung up, she looked directly at me.
“Eleanor Reed is gone.”
