Chapter 3 - The Man in Unit B-314
The stranger stood from the chair and said, “Raymond, you took long enough.”
My father stepped in front of me.
A silver key hung around the stranger’s neck.
Stamped into it was one number.
My dead father-in-law had apparently left behind a living witness.
Derek shoved past us.
“Who are you?”
The stranger stepped into the weak daylight.
He was older than Dad.
Thin.
Gray beard.
But the resemblance to Richard was unmistakable around the eyes.
Sharon clutched the storage door.
“Thomas.”
The man smiled sadly.
“Hello, Sharon.”
Derek looked between them.
“You know him?”
Sharon whispered, “He’s your uncle.”
Derek stared.
“My father didn’t have a brother.”
“Yes, he did.”
Thomas Sutton looked at him.
“Your mother erased me.”
Sharon flinched.
“I protected you.”
“From me?”
“From all of it.”
Thomas laughed softly.
“You did a wonderful job.”
His eyes moved to my bruises.
The laughter disappeared.
“Richard’s blood runs strong.”
Derek lunged.
Dad blocked him.
“Don’t.”
“He insulted me.”
“He described you.”
Derek clenched his fists.
I had seen those fists before.
For years I had told myself Derek wasn’t violent because he didn’t hit walls.
He hit words.
He hit doors.
He hit the steering wheel.
And eventually he hit me.
Thomas walked toward the desk.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to find that watch.”
“You’ve been living here?” I asked.
“No.”
He held up a small security camera.
“I got an alert when the unit opened.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard’s records are still dangerous.”
Dad stared at him.
“Twenty-three years later?”
“Especially twenty-three years later.”
Thomas opened a drawer.
Inside were folders.
Photographs.
Cassette tapes.
Old ledgers.
Derek shook his head.
“This is ridiculous.”
Thomas pulled out a file.
“Derek Sutton.”
Derek stopped.
“My name?”
“Your father started it when you were born.”
He tossed the folder onto the desk.
Derek opened it.
There were childhood photographs.
School records.
Letters.
A copy of his birth certificate.
Then a sealed envelope.
FOR DEREK — AGE 35.
Derek was thirty-five.
His fingers trembled.
“What is this?”
“Richard loved deadlines.”
“Why didn’t I get it?”
“Because he died.”
“Then why didn’t you give it to me?”
Thomas looked at Sharon.
“Your mother begged me not to.”
Derek tore open the envelope.
One page.
He read it.
His face drained.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He folded it.
“Nothing.”
Thomas smiled without humor.
“Then you won’t mind Claire reading it.”
Derek shoved it into his pocket.
Dad stepped closer.
“Give it to her.”
“No.”
I spoke before Dad could.
“I don’t need it.”
Derek looked at me.
“What?”
“I spent six years needing you to explain yourself.”
I touched my bruised cheek.
“I’m finished.”
For once, he had nothing to say.
Thomas studied me.
“You’re Evelyn’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not stopping this before it reached you.”
Dad’s expression sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
Thomas opened another cabinet.
“Richard didn’t just keep records of stolen vehicles. He kept records of people.”
“What people?”
“Police officers. Businessmen. Judges. Anyone who owed him.”
Dad frowned.
“Most of them are dead or retired.”
“Not all.”
Thomas pulled out a black ledger.
“And some of their children inherited more than money.”
Derek scoffed.
“This has nothing to do with us.”
Thomas opened the ledger.
He pointed to a page.
DEREK SUTTON.
There were payments beside his name.
Recent payments.
Two months ago.
Three weeks ago.
Four days ago.
I stared at my husband.
“What is that?”
Derek’s face hardened.
“Business.”
Thomas laughed.
“You’ve been selling information from your father’s files.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Dad turned to Derek.
“You knew about the unit.”
“No.”
“You knew enough.”
Derek’s eyes darted toward the exit.
That was when I understood.
He wasn’t confused anymore.
He was calculating.
“Derek?”
He looked at me.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Thomas reached into the drawer again.
He removed a photograph.
Derek grabbed it.
Dad caught his wrist.
“Let go.”
“Give me the picture.”
Derek tried to pull away.
Dad didn’t move.
Not an inch.
Finally Derek released it.
Dad handed the photograph to me.
It showed Derek outside Red Maple Storage.
The date was printed in the corner.
Three weeks earlier.
My stomach dropped.
“You’ve been here.”
Derek said nothing.
Sharon sat down.
“Oh, God.”
“You knew,” I whispered.
“No.”
“You knew about all of this.”
“I knew my father had records.”
“And you came here?”
“I couldn’t get inside.”
“So you needed the key.”
His eyes moved to Sharon’s purse.
She grabbed it.
“You searched my house,” she whispered.
Derek didn’t deny it.
Thomas leaned against the desk.
“Richard left instructions. The unit could only be opened with Sharon’s key or the code hidden inside the watch.”
“Why both?” I asked.
“Because Richard trusted nobody.”
Dad picked up the black ledger.
“What was Derek looking for?”
Thomas pointed toward the back wall.
“A red file.”
Derek moved.
Fast.
He ran toward the cabinets.
Dad caught him by the shoulder.
Derek swung around.
“Get off me!”
“Stop.”
Derek shoved Dad.
Dad stumbled one step.
I screamed.
Derek raised his arm.
Dad caught it.
For a second the two men stood locked together.
Then Dad released him deliberately.
“No.”
Derek breathed hard.
“What?”
Dad looked at me.
“She’s already seen enough violence.”
That sentence broke something inside me.
Because he was right.
I had spent years believing love meant surviving somebody’s worst moments.
Maybe love was actually refusing to create another one.
Dad stepped away.
“You want the file? Take it.”
Derek stared suspiciously.
Thomas said, “Ray.”
Dad shook his head.
“Let him.”
Derek opened the cabinet.
He found a red folder.
He pulled it free.
Then he ran.
“Derek!” Sharon shouted.
He disappeared between the storage buildings.
Dad started after him.
I caught his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
“He has the file.”
“I don’t care.”
Thomas did.
“You should.”
Dad stopped.
“Why?”
Thomas looked at me.
“That file contains Richard’s last insurance policy.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
“What’s inside?”
“A recording.”
Sharon began crying.
Dad looked at her.
“You know.”
She nodded.
“What recording?”
“Richard’s confession.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Not only Richard’s.”
He looked at Sharon.
“Yours.”
Sharon covered her face.
I felt suddenly cold.
“What did you confess to?”
She didn’t answer.
Dad crouched in front of her.
“Sharon.”
She looked at him.
“Richard didn’t die in an accident.”
Silence.
Dad stood.
“What?”
“The highway crash was staged.”
“By whom?”
She whispered, “Me.”
Derek’s footsteps were gone.
Somewhere outside, an engine started.
Dad rushed toward the door.
Too late.
Derek’s SUV tore out of the storage complex.
Thomas grabbed his phone.
“He took the recording.”
“Where would he go?”
Sharon looked terrified.
“He’ll destroy it.”
Thomas shook his head.
“He can’t.”
“Why?”
“The original isn’t in the folder.”
Dad turned.
“Where is it?”
Thomas looked directly at me.
“Richard gave it to Evelyn.”
My mother.
I grabbed my phone.
Three missed calls.
All from Mom.
Then a text arrived.
CLAIRE, DEREK IS HERE.
A second message appeared.
May you like
HE KNOWS I HAVE THE RECORDING.
Then nothing.
