The photograph changed the urgency of everything.
Miriam stared at it for several seconds, then placed it carefully beside the other evidence.
“Daniel,” she said, “when was this taken?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
“And the box was in Lena’s trunk?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knows someone is looking.”
I felt the old instinct to protect my sister rise again.
“She might have been taking it somewhere safe.”
Miriam looked at me.
“Claire, after everything that happened last night, don't explain her behavior for her.”
I lowered my eyes.
She was right.
Daniel pointed to the photograph.
“The box was underneath the folder she took from you.”
“So she has both.”
“Apparently.”
Miriam picked up her phone.
“I'll contact the court clerk and begin the emergency filing.”
“Can we get the box before she moves it?”
“We need a legal way to do that.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Do you know where she keeps important things?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I hesitated.
“My mother had a small property outside town. Lena has used it for storage since the funeral.”
Miriam's expression changed.
“Does she have access to that property?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone else?”
“My mother's old caretaker.”
“What is his name?”
“Thomas.”
“Can he confirm whether Lena has been there recently?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel was already reaching for his phone.
“I can call.”
“No,” I said.
Both of them looked at me.
“I should call Thomas.”
I dialed from memory.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Claire?”
His voice immediately sounded relieved.
“Thomas, I need to ask you something.”
“Are you all right?”
“I will be.”
There was a pause.
“Has Lena been at Mother's house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
My heart sank.
“Did she take anything?”
Another pause.
“What kind of thing?”
“A wooden storage box.”
Thomas sighed.
“I wondered if you'd ask.”
“What happened?”
“She told me you had authorized her to remove the estate papers.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you believe her?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that I almost laughed.
“Why not?”
“Because your mother told me never to release that box unless you were present.”
Miriam leaned closer.
“What did you do?”
“I told Lena that.”
“What happened?”
“She became angry.”
“How angry?”
“Angry enough to threaten to call the police and say I was interfering with the estate.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Where is the box now?”
Thomas hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She came back this morning.”
My heart stopped.
“This morning?”
“Yes.”
“Was the box there?”
“No.”
Miriam mouthed, Ask him where.
I did.
Thomas answered quietly.
“She had already taken it.”
Daniel looked toward the photograph.
Miriam whispered, “The trunk.”
I nodded.
“Thomas, did you see what else she took?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A metal key.”
“What kind of key?”
“I don't know. It was old. Brass.”
I suddenly remembered something.
My mother had once given me a brass key and told me to keep it somewhere safe.
I had forgotten about it.
“Did it have a number?”
Thomas said, “Seven.”
The room went silent.
Miriam immediately stood.
“Claire, do you know what that opens?”
I searched my memory.
Then I remembered the basement of my mother's house.
There had been seven small lockboxes built into the wall.
My mother had always called them “the archive.”
After she died, Lena had told me they were empty.
I had believed her.
“I think I know.”
Miriam gathered her coat.
“Then we're going there.”
The courthouse filing could wait a few minutes.
The archive could not.
Daniel drove.
I sat in the back beside Miriam, holding the photograph.
Snow had begun again.
The road blurred beyond the window.
“You should prepare yourself,” Miriam said.
“For what?”
“We don't know what we'll find.”
I looked at the photograph.
“I'm beginning to think my mother knew exactly what would happen.”
“She probably knew Lena better than either of us realized.”
When we reached the property, the gate was open.
Thomas met us outside.
His face looked older than it had over the phone.
“She was here again,” he said.
“Lena?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Less than an hour ago.”
I stared at him.
“Did she see you?”
“No. I heard her car.”
“Where did she go?”
“Inside.”
We entered the house.
Everything smelled the way I remembered.
Old wood.
Dust.
Lavender.
My mother's furniture remained mostly untouched.
Then I noticed something.
The basement door was open.
I had never seen it open after the funeral.
Miriam took my arm.
“Stay behind me.”
We went downstairs.
Seven metal compartments were built into the wall.
The seventh was open.
Empty.
My stomach dropped.
“She already took it.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed.
“There.”
Inside the compartment was a small envelope.
My name was written across it.
Miriam carefully removed it.
“Your mother expected this.”
I opened it.
Inside was a single brass key.
Number seven.
My hands began to shake.
Beneath the key was a note.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
If Lena has taken the box, she has not found everything.
I looked at Miriam.
“What does that mean?”
She read the rest.
The original trust is only one part of the record. The proof of what happened to the estate is kept somewhere Lena would never think to search.
The note ended with three words.
Ask about Daniel.
I slowly turned toward him.
Daniel was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
He looked as confused as I felt.
“Why would your mother mention me?”
I didn't know.
Then Thomas spoke.
“Because Daniel's father used to work for her.”
Daniel's face changed.
“My father?”
Thomas nodded.
“He handled her accounts.”
Miriam stared at Daniel.
“What's your father's name?”
“Robert Reed.”
She went completely still.
Then she whispered, “That's impossible.”
“What?”
“Robert Reed was the accountant who disappeared after your mother's first estate dispute.”
Daniel frowned.
“My father didn't disappear.”
Miriam looked at him.
“Then where did he go?”
Daniel's expression hardened.
“He died six years ago.”
The room fell silent.
I looked at the note again.
Ask about Daniel.
For the first time, I wondered whether Daniel had stopped beside me at that bus stop by coincidence.
And whether my mother had somehow known that one day he would.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Daniel Had Never Told Me What His Father Did for My Mother, and the Answer Explained Why Lena Feared One Missing Ledger
The Car Disappeared Into the Snow, Leaving Me With Nothing but Darkness, Cold Pavement, and One Question I Could Not Answer
Part 5 of 12
