PART 3 — THE BLUE LEDGER
The alarm screamed through the Aldren.
Not the fire alarm.
I knew every alarm in my hotel.
This one came from below us.
Three sharp electronic pulses.
A pause.
Three more.
Celia looked at me from behind the dark front desk.
“Server room.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“That’s the environmental alarm in the basement server room.”
Marcus was already moving.
“I’ll check it.”
“No,” I said.
He stopped.
I looked through the glass doors.
My father was still across the street.
Phone against his ear.
Watching us.
“Take someone with you.”
Marcus signaled to Daniel, one of our evening security officers.
They disappeared through the service corridor.
Derek stared at the dead computers.
“Power failure?”
“The lobby lights are still on.”
The chandeliers glowed above us.
The restaurant was still illuminated.
The elevators still displayed floor numbers.
Only the front desk terminals and my office had gone dark.
That wasn’t a power failure.
That was targeted.
Celia pulled a tablet from beneath the desk.
“It won’t connect to the property-management system.”
“Switch to cellular.”
She did.
Her expression tightened.
“Internet’s down too.”
Guests had begun looking toward us.
I forced myself into hotel mode.
Whatever was happening, there were still eighty-seven occupied rooms upstairs and more than a hundred people inside my building.
“Celia, manual check-in procedure.”
She nodded immediately.
“Already starting.”
“Printouts?”
“Night audit backup was printed at six.”
“Good. Keep the desk running. Don’t mention a security incident unless we confirm one.”
I turned toward the restaurant.
“Have the dining team continue service.”
Then I looked at Derek.
“Stay here.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Maya—”
“Your father just made a phone call twenty seconds before my systems went down.”
“You don’t know he caused it.”
“No. And neither do you.”
He flinched.
I hated that.
But I didn’t have time to protect his feelings.
“Stay with Mom.”
I walked toward the service corridor.
My mother caught my arm.
“Maya.”
I turned.
Her face had gone pale.
“What?”
“Don’t go downstairs.”
Something about the way she said it stopped me.
Not concern.
Recognition.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“I said I don’t know anything.”
“You just told me Dad has been moving family money around since before I was born.”
Her eyes moved toward the front doors.
My father was no longer there.
His car was.
But he wasn’t.
“Where did he go?” Cassandra asked.
Nobody answered.
My mother squeezed my wrist.
“Maya, please. Call the police.”
“Why?”
She looked at the service corridor.
Then back at me.
“Because your father has done this before.”
The words hit harder than the alarm.
“Done what?”
Her lips trembled.
“Made records disappear.”
I stared at her.
“What records?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“When Derek was twelve, your grandmother confronted Robert about money missing from an account.”
Derek stepped closer.
“What account?”
“She never told me.”
My mother opened her eyes.
“She came to our house with a folder. She said she had copies of everything.”
“What happened?”
“Your father told her she was confused.”
“And?”
“They argued.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
My mother looked at the floor.
“That night, Dad left the house around eleven.”
Derek frowned.
“I remember that.”
We both looked at him.
He swallowed.
“I thought he went to Grandma’s.”
“He did,” Mom said.
“How do you know?”
“Because he came home at three in the morning carrying a metal file box.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What was inside?”
“I never saw.”
“What happened to it?”
“Robert burned papers in the backyard the next morning.”
Derek stared at her.
“You knew?”
“I knew something was wrong.”
“For fourteen years?”
“I was afraid.”
My brother laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You were afraid, so you just let him?”
“Derek.”
“No. You let him take Maya’s college money. You let him lie to both of us. You let him—”
A crash came from the service corridor.
Everyone froze.
Then Marcus shouted.
“Maya!”
I ran.
Derek followed despite what I’d told him.
We pushed through the service door.
The corridor beyond was dim.
Emergency lighting glowed near the floor.
Marcus stood at the basement stairwell.
Daniel was beside him.
“What happened?”
“The server-room door.”
“What about it?”
“Someone forced it.”
I looked past him.
The metal door at the bottom of the stairs hung slightly open.
The electronic lock panel had been ripped away from the wall.
My heart started pounding.
“Did you go inside?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I pulled out my phone.
“Call the police.”
Marcus nodded.
Derek whispered, “Maya.”
I turned.
He was looking behind us.
At the floor.
A small black object lay near the baseboard.
He bent down.
“Don’t touch it.”
He stopped.
I crouched.
It was a key fob.
Black leather.
Silver initials.
R.L.
Robert Lawson.
My father.
Derek looked at me.
“That could have been there before.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because this corridor is cleaned twice a day.”
I stood.
“And because Dad carries his keys on that fob.”
My mother appeared at the corridor entrance.
When she saw it, she covered her mouth.
Cassandra whispered, “Oh my God.”
I looked at Marcus.
“Lock down the basement.”
He nodded.
“No one goes in until police arrive.”
Then another sound came from below us.
A metallic bang.
Daniel stepped backward.
“Someone’s down there.”
Marcus reached for his radio.
“Security to loading entrance. Lock exterior basement access immediately.”
Static.
Then a voice.
“Copy.”
Footsteps.
From below.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming toward us.
My mother backed away.
Derek stepped in front of her.
Marcus raised one hand.
“Everyone behind me.”
The footsteps reached the stairwell.
A shadow moved across the wall.
Then a man appeared.
Not my father.
He was wearing gray work clothes and carrying a tool bag.
He stopped when he saw us.
“What the hell?”
Marcus moved forward.
“Hands where I can see them.”
The man raised both hands.
“Whoa.”
“Who are you?”
“Maintenance.”
“You don’t work here.”
“I’m contracted.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
Marcus took the tool bag.
“Name.”
“Evan.”
“Last name.”
“Price.”
I had never heard it.
“What were you doing in my server room?”
His eyes found me.
“You’re Maya Lawson?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
Very slightly.
But I saw it.
He knew my name.
“Who hired you?” I asked.
“No one.”
“You just said you were contracted.”
“I mean—I got a call.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus opened the tool bag.
Screwdrivers.
Wire cutters.
A portable drive.
And a small black device with two Ethernet ports.
Celia had followed us into the corridor.
When she saw it, she said, “That’s a network bridge.”
I looked at her.
“What does it do?”
“If it was connected inside our network, someone could potentially access traffic remotely.”
Evan shook his head.
“I was told to install it.”
“By whom?”
“I swear, I don’t know his name.”
My phone buzzed.
Another email.
Same unknown sender.
Three words.
HE IS STALLING YOU.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
CHECK YOUR OFFICE.
I turned and ran.
“Maya!”
I ignored Derek.
Across the lobby.
Past the desk.
Into my office.
The lights were still out.
I switched on my phone flashlight.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Desk.
Chairs.
Bookshelf.
Architectural drawing.
Then I saw it.
My safe.
The cabinet door concealing it was open.
The safe itself was closed.
I crossed the room.
My fingers shook as I entered the code.
Beep.
The door opened.
My passport was there.
Emergency cash.
Property documents.
Backup drives.
But the red folder was gone.
I knew exactly what had been inside it.
Original operating agreements.
Ownership certificates.
Corporate seals.
And one notarized copy of the formation documents for Marrow Street Hospitality.
Derek appeared in the doorway.
“What’s missing?”
I turned toward him.
“Corporate documents.”
His face drained.
“Could someone do anything with them?”
“Not legally.”
“Illegally?”
“That depends on what else they have.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“Ms. Lawson?”
“Yes.”
“You received my email.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Samuel Beckett.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
Derek saw my face.
“What?”
I held up one finger.
“Samuel Beckett is dead,” I said.
The voice on the other end paused.
“No.”
“The firm closed years ago.”
“The firm closed. I didn’t.”
“Where are you?”
“Not somewhere I’m willing to disclose over this line.”
“You told me to come to Abercorn tomorrow.”
“That was before someone entered your hotel.”
I went cold.
“You know about that?”
“I suspected Robert would move quickly.”
“Who are you?”
“I told you.”
“Prove it.”
Another pause.
Then he said, “Your grandmother called you Little Sparrow.”
My knees almost weakened.
Nobody knew that.
Nobody except Grandma.
And me.
“She stopped using that name when I was fourteen.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Elaine Lawson was my client for twenty-two years.”
I sat down.
Derek mouthed, Who is it?
I whispered, “Beckett.”
His eyes widened.
Samuel continued.
“Your grandmother believed your father was stealing from trusts established by several relatives.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know the final amount.”
“Give me a number.”
“At least seven figures.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Possibly more.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No, Ms. Lawson. It was extremely possible because for years nobody was comparing the accounts.”
I thought about my father’s house.
Four hundred thousand dollars in debt.
The missing college money.
The sixty-thousand-dollar demand.
The blue ledger.
“What does this have to do with my company?”
“That is why we need to meet.”
“Tell me now.”
“I won’t discuss the evidence over the phone.”
“My office was just broken into.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because someone attempted to access a dormant corporate filing connected to your grandmother forty-three minutes ago.”
I stood.
“What filing?”
“A holding company.”
“What holding company?”
“Elaine established it shortly before her death.”
I felt pressure building behind my eyes.
“What does it own?”
Samuel was silent.
“Mr. Beckett.”
“When your grandmother died, she left assets that were supposed to transfer to you at age thirty.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“I know.”
“Then where are they?”
“That is the problem.”
My mouth went dry.
“What assets?”
“Among other things, commercial property.”
Derek stepped closer.
I put the call on speaker.
“Say that again.”
Samuel did.
“Your grandmother owned interests in several commercial properties.”
“Where?”
“Savannah. Charleston. Two parcels outside Atlanta.”
My mind raced.
Grandma had lived comfortably.
But not like that.
“She never told me.”
“She had reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“Robert.”
Of course.
I looked toward the dark safe.
“Did Dad take them?”
“He tried.”
“Tried?”
“The trust structure prevented a direct transfer. But someone filed documents after Elaine died claiming you had relinquished certain beneficiary rights.”
I froze.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the signature wasn’t yours.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Derek whispered, “Forgery.”
Samuel continued.
“That is what Elaine feared.”
“Who signed it?”
“We need the original ledger to establish the complete chain.”
“Where is it?”
“That’s what Robert has been trying to find.”
I remembered the photograph.
Dad.
The bank office.
The blue ledger sitting between him and the silver-haired man.
“I saw it.”
Samuel went silent.
“What?”
“The ledger. There was a photograph attached to your email.”
“What photograph?”
My blood went cold.
“You sent it.”
“No.”
The silence that followed was worse than anything he could have said.
“Mr. Beckett?”
“I sent you the address and warning.”
“And the picture.”
“No.”
Derek and I looked at each other.
“Then who sent the photograph?”
“I don’t know.”
I opened the email.
Same thread.
Same apparent sender.
But now I noticed something I had missed.
The first message had come from one address.
The photograph had come from another.
One character was different.
A lowercase L where the other used an uppercase I.
Someone had imitated Beckett’s address.
Someone wanted me to believe all the messages came from him.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a text.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
My father.
Standing outside the hotel.
Taken seconds ago.
From above.
From inside the Aldren.
Someone was watching him from one of my rooms.
Below the image:
HE DOESN’T HAVE THE LEDGER.
I showed Derek.
His face tightened.
Then another message.
YOUR MOTHER DOES.
I turned toward the doorway.
My mother was standing there.
She had read it over my shoulder.
Her entire body went still.
“Mom?”
She backed away.
Derek stared at her.
“Mom.”
She started crying.
“Please.”
“Do you have the ledger?”
“No.”
Another message appeared.
ASK HER ABOUT THE STORAGE UNIT.
My mother made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
I held up the phone.
“What storage unit?”
“Maya, please.”
“What storage unit?”
She looked toward the lobby.
Toward my father.
Or where he had been.
“He’ll kill me.”
The words erased everything else.
Derek grabbed her shoulders.
“What did you say?”
“He’ll kill me if he finds out.”
“Finds out what?”
She looked at me.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
My voice softened despite everything.
“Mom. Tell me.”
She reached into her clutch.
Her fingers trembled so badly she could barely open it.
Then she pulled out a small brass key.
A white plastic tag hung from it.
STORAGE 214.
“I found the ledger six months ago,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“In your father’s workshop.”
“And you took it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because there were names in it.”
“What names?”
“Ours.”
She looked at Derek.
“Yours.”
Then me.
“Yours.”
She swallowed.
“And people I didn’t recognize.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I rented a storage unit under my maiden name.”
“Where?”
“On Victory Drive.”
My phone rang again.
Samuel.
I answered.
“Do not go there,” he said immediately.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I was calling to tell you something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I found the corporate filing that was accessed tonight.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t your grandmother’s holding company they were trying to change.”
“Whose was it?”
“Yours.”
Silence.
“Marrow Street?”
“Yes.”
I sat down again.
“What were they trying to do?”
“File an emergency amendment.”
“What amendment?”
“To replace the managing member.”
My skin went cold.
“With whom?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That shouldn’t be possible.”
“It isn’t without supporting documents.”
My eyes moved toward the open safe.
“The red folder.”
“What?”
“The original formation documents were stolen from my office.”
Samuel cursed under his breath.
“Call your attorney now.”
“I will.”
“And Maya?”
“Yes?”
“Do not use the storage key.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone knows your mother has it, they may be waiting.”
I looked at Mom.
Her face collapsed.
Then Derek’s phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
And went completely still.
“Derek?”
He didn’t answer.
“What is it?”
He slowly turned the screen toward me.
A security notification from his home.
FRONT DOOR OPENED.
Cassandra stared.
“We’re all here.”
Derek tapped the camera feed.
The image loaded.
His living room was dark.
Someone moved through the frame.
A man.
Baseball cap.
Gloves.
He walked directly toward Derek’s home office.
Then another man entered.
Cassandra whispered, “Call the police.”
Derek already was.
But I kept watching.
The second man carried something beneath his arm.
A familiar red folder.
My red folder.
“That’s mine.”
Derek stared at me.
“What?”
“That folder came from my safe.”
The first man opened Derek’s office door.
Then the feed went black.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT.
A second message followed.
BRING THE STORAGE KEY TO THE RIVER STREET PARKING GARAGE.
COME ALONE.
Then a third.
OR YOUR BROTHER LOSES EVERYTHING.
Derek read it.
His face twisted.
“I don’t have anything they want.”
“Maybe you do.”
“What?”
I remembered something.
The rooftop dinner.
Hollis Group.
Dad asking Derek for an introduction to someone who could arrange financing.
The private bridge loan.
“Your firm.”
Derek stared at me.
“What about it?”
“Dad said your firm had relationships connected to my property.”
“He was bluffing.”
“Was he?”
Derek’s expression changed.
Slowly.
“There’s a client.”
“What client?”
He hesitated.
“Three weeks ago, Dad asked me about one of Hollis Group’s accounts.”
“Whose?”
“I told him I couldn’t discuss clients.”
“But?”
“He already knew the name.”
“What name?”
Derek looked toward our mother.
“Elaine Holdings.”
Nobody moved.
My grandmother’s name.
I whispered, “What is Elaine Holdings?”
“I thought it was coincidence.”
“What does it own?”
“I don’t know. The account is restricted above my level.”
“But you know something.”
He nodded.
“It holds commercial assets.”
“How much?”
“Maya…”
“How much?”
His answer barely came out.
“Last valuation I saw?”
He swallowed.
“Twenty-eight million dollars.”
My mother sat down hard.
Cassandra covered her mouth.
Twenty-eight million.
Suddenly Dad’s sixty-thousand-dollar demand looked ridiculous.
Not the objective.
A distraction.
A test.
Maybe even a way to get my banking information.
Samuel’s voice came through my phone.
“Maya?”
I had forgotten he was still connected.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Elaine Holdings?”
A long silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What is it?”
“The holding company your grandmother created.”
The room went silent.
“And I’m supposed to own it?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are two beneficiaries.”
I looked at Derek.
“Me and Derek?”
“No.”
Derek frowned.
“Then who?”
Samuel answered carefully.
“Maya is the primary beneficiary.”
“And the second?”
“I need to confirm something before I tell you.”
“No. Tell me now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if what I’m looking at is correct, your family has been lying to you about more than money.”
My chest tightened.
“What are you looking at?”
“Your grandmother’s original beneficiary declaration.”
I heard papers moving.
Then Samuel went silent.
Too silent.
“Mr. Beckett?”
Nothing.
“Samuel?”
A noise came through the phone.
A door opening.
Then his voice changed.
“Someone is here.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call the police.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Samuel—”
“Do not come to Abercorn tomorrow.”
Then the call ended.
I immediately called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Derek whispered, “What do we do?”
Before I could answer, the hotel entrance opened.
Two Savannah police officers walked in.
Relief moved through me.
Marcus approached them.
Then a third person entered behind them.
A woman.
Late forties.
Gray suit.
Leather briefcase.
She looked around the lobby.
Then directly at me.
“Maya Lawson?”
“Yes.”
She crossed toward me.
“My name is Caroline Hayes.”
I recognized the surname.
Beckett, Hayes & Morrow.
“You’re with Samuel Beckett?”
Her expression changed.
“Samuel Beckett died four years ago.”
Nobody spoke.
My phone nearly slipped from my hand.
“No.”
“I was just talking to him.”
Caroline stared at me.
“That’s impossible.”
“I heard his voice.”
“I attended his funeral.”
My mother whispered, “Oh my God.”
Caroline opened her briefcase.
“Ms. Lawson, I came because our office received an automated notification tonight.”
“What notification?”
“Someone triggered a provision your grandmother placed in her trust.”
“What provision?”
She looked at the people surrounding me.
“We should discuss this privately.”
“Tonight has gone well beyond private.”
Caroline studied me.
Then nodded.
“Elaine created a dead-man provision.”
Derek frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“If certain ownership records were altered, or if someone attempted to remove Maya as controlling beneficiary, copies of the original trust documents would automatically be released.”
“Released to whom?”
“Attorneys. Trustees. Financial institutions.”
She paused.
“And federal investigators.”
My mother made a tiny sound.
I looked at Caroline.
“When?”
“Monday morning.”
The message.
Robert is trying to stop something that becomes irreversible Monday morning.
“What happens Monday?”
“The documents become impossible to suppress.”
“And Dad knows?”
“He may.”
That explained the sixty thousand.
The break-in.
The network device.
The stolen corporate documents.
But not everything.
“Who called me pretending to be Samuel?”
Caroline’s expression hardened.
“I don’t know.”
“Who sent the photograph of my father with the ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knows my mother has the storage key?”
“I don’t know.”
I held up my phone.
“Then somebody knows more than all of us.”
One of the officers approached.
“Ms. Lawson?”
“Yes?”
“We checked the server room.”
“And?”
“There’s something you should see.”
I followed him downstairs.
Marcus came with me.
Derek did too.
The damaged server-room door opened with a groan.
Inside, cables had been pulled loose.
One rack had been opened.
The network bridge sat disconnected on the floor.
But the officer wasn’t looking at the servers.
He pointed toward the back wall.
“There.”
A ventilation panel had been removed.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside sat a small metal box.
Old.
Dusty.
Definitely older than my ownership of the Aldren.
“What is that?”
“We haven’t touched it.”
Caroline stepped closer.
Then froze.
“Oh, no.”
I looked at her.
“You recognize it?”
She nodded.
“That belonged to Elaine.”
My heart stopped.
“My grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“What was it doing inside my hotel?”
Caroline looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.
“Maya… how much do you actually know about why you bought the Aldren?”
“I bought it because the previous ownership group was distressed.”
“Who introduced you to the opportunity?”
“A broker.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Vale.”
Caroline closed her eyes.
“What?”
“Thomas Vale was your grandmother’s trustee.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He never told me.”
“He wasn’t allowed to.”
“Why would Grandma care whether I bought this hotel?”
Caroline looked toward the metal box.
“Because Elaine owned this building.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“Not publicly. Through a holding company.”
“When?”
“Until three months before she died.”
My entire journey flashed through my mind.
Finding the Aldren.
Thinking it was luck.
Negotiating the purchase.
Falling in love with the building before I ever knew why.
“She led me here.”
Caroline nodded.
“I think she did.”
The police officer put on gloves.
He lifted the metal box from the cavity.
There was a combination lock.
But taped beneath the lid was a yellowed envelope.
One word was written across it.
SPARROW.
My childhood nickname.
My hands shook.
Caroline whispered, “She meant you to find this.”
I touched the combination dial.
Then I remembered Grandma’s birthday.
April 17.
I entered 0417.
Click.
The lock opened.
Inside was a stack of documents.
Photographs.
Bank records.
A small cassette tape.
And another envelope.
But no blue ledger.
I opened the envelope.
There was one page.
Maya,
If you have found this box, then Robert has probably discovered the ledger exists.
Do not believe the story he tells you about why I created Elaine Holdings.
I created it because there was one person in our family Robert could never be allowed to control.
I stopped.
Derek was reading over my shoulder.
“Keep going.”
I did.
You.
But protecting you required me to hide something from you too.
My chest tightened.
Below that was one final paragraph.
The second beneficiary of Elaine Holdings is not Derek.
It is your sister.
I stared at the sentence.
Derek whispered, “Our what?”
I looked at him.
“I don’t have a sister.”
Behind us, my mother started sobbing.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
She folded against the wall as though her legs could no longer hold her.
I turned.
“Mom?”
She shook her head.
Derek stared at her.
“Mom, what is she talking about?”
My mother covered her face.
My voice barely worked.
“Do I have a sister?”
She lowered her hands.
Thirty years of fear seemed to be sitting behind her eyes.
“Yes.”
One word.
That was all it took to split my childhood in half.
“Who?”
My mother looked toward the police officers.
Then Caroline.
Then me.
“Her name is Claire.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
My mother’s next words made the entire room go silent.
“Seven years ago.”
The exact year my family stopped speaking to me.
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Maya—”
“Seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Your father told everyone she left.”
“Everyone?”
“She wasn’t raised with us.”
“Why?”
My mother began crying again.
“Because Robert didn’t want you to know she existed.”
A coldness spread through me.
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-four.”
Two years older than me.
“Who is her mother?”
My mother looked directly at me.
“I am.”
Derek backed into the server rack.
“What?”
I couldn’t speak.
My mother continued.
“I had Claire before I met your father.”
“Then Dad isn’t her father.”
“No.”
“Why hide her?”
“Because when Robert found out my mother had been helping Claire financially, he became obsessed with what she might inherit.”
Grandma Elaine.
The trust.
The second beneficiary.
“Where is Claire?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“Did Dad hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
Her voice cracked through the basement.
Then she whispered, “But the last time I saw Claire, she told me she had proof Robert was stealing.”
The blue ledger.
My phone buzzed.
Every person in the room looked at it.
Unknown number.
One message.
I opened it.
A photograph.
A woman stood beside a storage-unit door.
Unit 214.
She had dark hair.
My eyes.
My mother’s mouth.
And she was holding the blue ledger.
Below the photograph were six words.
MAYA, PLEASE DON’T TRUST OUR MOTHER.
My pulse thundered.
A second message arrived.
I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED SEVEN YEARS AGO.
Then a third.
AND I KNOW WHY THEY ABANDONED YOU.
I stared at my mother.
She was staring at my phone.
Her face had become completely white.
The final message appeared.
COME TO UNIT 214 BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
BRING DEREK.
DO NOT BRING LINDA.
Then:
SHE IS THE REASON I DISAPPEARED.
END OF PART 3
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