Chapter 7 - The Storage Unit
We went to the storage facility the next morning.
Emily insisted on coming.
I tried to talk her out of it.
She folded her arms over her stomach.
“Stop deciding what I can handle.”
That ended the argument.
Nathan arranged for an investigator to meet us there.
Patricia came too.
She barely spoke during the drive.
I sat beside her in the back seat.
For years, I had disliked that woman.
Now I was not sure what I felt.
Anger.
Pity.
Maybe recognition.
We had both made the same mistake in different ways.
We had both seen pieces of Marcus.
And we had both chosen easier explanations.
At the facility, the manager opened the unit after Nathan presented Patricia’s documents.
The metal door rattled upward.
Dusty fluorescent light spilled inside.
Boxes lined the walls.
A crib sat unopened near the back.
Emily stared at it.
“That’s the crib I wanted.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I showed it to Marcus months ago. He said it was too expensive.”
Patricia covered her mouth.
The investigator began photographing everything before anyone touched it.
There were diapers.
Baby clothes.
A stroller.
A car seat.
All brand new.
It looked less like storage and more like someone preparing another home.
Nathan opened a document box after the investigator cleared it.
Inside were property records.
Bank statements.
Insurance documents.
A Florida address.
I recognized none of it.
Then Emily whispered, “That house.”
She was staring at a photograph.
“You know it?”
“Marcus showed it to me once.”
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
“What did he say?”
“He said one of his clients owned it.”
Nathan looked at the property records.
“The owner is Carter Family Holdings Trust.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“Carter.”
My maiden name.
Marcus had used our family name again.
Nathan continued reading.
“Beneficiary: minor child of Emily Carter Reed.”
“But the baby isn’t born yet,” Patricia said.
“You can create structures anticipating a child,” Nathan replied. “That isn’t the concerning part.”
“What is?”
He turned another page.
“Trustee.”
I knew before he said it.
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
Emily lowered herself onto a box.
“What was he planning?”
Nathan did not answer immediately.
Then the investigator found another folder.
Inside were printed emails between Marcus and a real estate broker.
Most were ordinary.
One was not.
The broker had asked:
**Will your wife be joining you for the closing?**
Marcus’s reply:
**No. She will not be involved after the child is born.**
Emily stared at the page.
I felt sick.
Patricia began crying.
“I raised him.”
Nobody knew what to say.
She looked at Emily.
“I raised the man who did this to you.”
Emily’s expression remained guarded.
“You also defended him.”
“I know.”
“For years.”
“I know.”
Patricia did not excuse herself.
That mattered.
She sat across from Emily.
“When you called me after he threw your birthday cake in the trash, do you remember?”
Emily’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You told me he did it because you invited your friend Rachel after he said not to.”
“Yes.”
“I told you husbands and wives need boundaries.”
Emily looked away.
Patricia’s voice broke.
“I knew that was wrong when I said it.”
Emily looked back.
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because if Marcus was wrong, I had to admit I had spent his entire life excusing him.”
The storage unit went silent.
Patricia wiped her cheeks.
“His father was the same way.”
Marcus’s father had died before I met the family.
Patricia continued.
“He controlled everything. Money. Friends. What I wore.”
Emily stared at her.
“And you taught Marcus that was normal.”
“Yes.”
There was no defense in Patricia’s voice.
Only shame.
“I did.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
I expected anger.
Instead, she whispered, “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Patricia looked broken.
“Because I was still lying to myself.”
I walked away for a moment.
Not because the conversation was unimportant.
Because it was too important.
Sometimes people did not need another person filling silence.
They needed room to tell the truth.
Nathan called me toward the back.
“Linda.”
He had opened a locked metal case.
Inside were several phones and a laptop.
The investigator photographed them.
Then Nathan pointed to a folder of printed documents beneath them.
“Look.”
They were custody research notes.
Articles.
Legal consultation summaries.
Copies of Emily’s medical records.
I felt rage rise again.
“He took her records?”
“Apparently.”
Emily joined us.
“What are those?”
I tried to close the folder.
She stopped me.
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I said stop protecting me from my own life.”
She took the folder.
Her eyes moved across the pages.
Then she froze.
“What?”
She handed one page to Nathan.
It was a psychiatric referral.
Her name.
Her date of birth.
A recommendation for evaluation due to emotional instability.
Emily shook her head.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Nathan frowned.
“Do you recognize the doctor?”
“No.”
Patricia whispered, “Marcus told me you were depressed.”
Emily stared at her.
“He told you what?”
“He said pregnancy had made you unstable.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know that now.”
Emily looked at the paper again.
“Why would he need this?”
Nathan answered quietly.
“To support a custody argument.”
My hands went numb.
The plan was becoming clear.
Hide stolen money under Emily’s name.
Create records suggesting she was unstable.
Separate her from the baby.
Move assets into a trust he controlled.
It was not one betrayal.
It was architecture.
Something built carefully over time.
The investigator called from the other side of the unit.
“We found a shredder.”
Nathan walked over.
Beside it sat a trash bag filled with narrow strips of paper.
“Can those be reconstructed?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
Then Emily bent toward a small desk.
“Wait.”
A single sheet had slipped behind it.
She pulled it free before anyone could stop her.
At the top was the Arden logo.
Below it was a list of employee names.
Daniel Price.
Two managers.
Three accountants.
And one name I recognized immediately.
Helen Ward.
Our CEO.
Beside each name was a dollar amount.
Emily handed it to Nathan.
“What is that?”
He stared.
“I don’t know.”
But I did not like his expression.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
**All can be made responsible if necessary.**
Marcus had not planned to frame only Emily.
He had built insurance against everyone around him.
Then the investigator’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
He looked at Nathan.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Marcus is gone.”
I stepped forward.
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t return to his apartment last night.”
Nathan frowned.
“His passport?”
“Missing.”
My stomach dropped.
Then the investigator looked at Emily.
“And a car registered to Marcus was picked up heading south on the interstate two hours ago.”
Emily instinctively covered her stomach.
“Toward Florida?”
May you like
The investigator nodded.
“Yes.”
