Chapter 2 - The Silver Drive
Nobody moved.
My father's name continued glowing on David's phone.
ARTHUR PENDLETON.
The ringing stopped.
Then started again.
“Answer it,” I said.
David stared at me.
“It's spoofed.”
“Answer it.”
“Claire—”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Put it on speaker.”
David's thumb shook as he accepted the call.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then static.
I leaned closer.
A man's voice came through.
Not my father's.
“You should have left the storage unit alone.”
David's face tightened.
“Who is this?”
“You know.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, all I could hear was rain against the windows.
Dominic held out his hand.
“Phone.”
David laughed.
“No.”
“Then keep it. We already know what matters.”
“What matters?” I asked.
“Someone knows we're looking.”
I pulled on my coat.
“Then let's go.”
Dominic studied me.
“You should see a doctor.”
“I've spent three years letting other people tell me what I should do.”
I looked at David.
“I'm going.”
“You leave with him, don't come back.”
I stared at my husband.
The threat would once have terrified me.
Instead, I looked around the penthouse.
The flowers I arranged.
The kitchen where I cooked meals David criticized.
The dining table where I signed documents without reading them.
The staircase I had climbed quietly after arguments so the staff wouldn't know.
I suddenly understood that a beautiful prison remained a prison.
“I wasn't planning to.”
David's expression broke.
“Claire.”
I walked past him.
He didn't stop me.
Dominic's men remained behind.
Dominic and I took the elevator down.
Neither of us spoke until the doors closed.
Then he said, “I'm taking you to a hospital first.”
“No.”
“That wasn't a request.”
I looked at him.
He immediately corrected himself.
“Actually, it was. Bad habit.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Urgent care,” I said. “Ten minutes.”
“Deal.”
It took forty.
No broken ribs. Heavy bruising. A cut inside my lip. The physician wanted to know if I felt safe going home.
For the first time, I answered truthfully.
“No.”
She documented everything.
That mattered later.
At the time, I didn't know how much.
By midnight, Dominic and I were headed toward a private storage facility west of downtown.
He drove himself.
I watched Chicago smear across the wet windows.
“Tell me about the woman.”
“What woman?”
“The person who gave you the drive.”
“Her name is Evelyn Mercer.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
“She worked as your father's court reporter for eleven years.”
“Why have I never heard of her?”
“You probably have.”
“No.”
“She testified at an ethics hearing your father presided over.”
Still nothing.
Dominic glanced at me.
“David controlled your father's estate?”
“Yes.”
“His files?”
“Yes.”
“Your mail?”
Eventually, yes.
“Your phone?”
My silence answered.
“Then maybe the question isn't why you don't remember Evelyn.”
He turned onto the expressway.
“Maybe it's why David worked so hard to make sure you wouldn't.”
That landed hard.
At the storage facility, two patrol cars were already outside.
Dominic stopped across the street.
“You called police?”
“The alarm company did.”
For someone David had called a criminal, Dominic seemed surprisingly interested in not interfering with law enforcement.
“What now?”
“We wait.”
Twenty minutes later, the patrol cars left.
Dominic called the facility manager.
The break-in had been limited to one corridor.
My father's corridor.
The intruder had fled before police arrived.
The manager agreed to meet us.
Unit 314 was at the end of a fluorescent hallway.
The lock was damaged.
But the door remained closed.
The manager, a tired man named Frank, checked my identification three times.
“You're Arthur Pendleton's daughter?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me strangely.
“What?”
“Your father came here every month.”
“Until he died?”
Frank shook his head.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“How long?”
“About six months before.”
“Was he alone?”
“Usually.”
“Usually?”
Frank glanced at Dominic.
“There was a woman sometimes.”
“Evelyn Mercer?”
“I don't know her name.”
He described her.
Late fifties then. Red hair. Glasses.
It could have been Evelyn.
Frank opened the unit.
Inside were twelve archive boxes.
A metal filing cabinet.
A desk.
And an old computer.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Dominic stayed by the door.
“This is yours,” he said.
“You're not coming in?”
“Your father didn't leave it to me.”
I stepped inside alone.
The first box contained tax records.
The second contained court documents.
The third contained photographs.
Dad and me at Northwestern graduation.
Dad holding a fish at Lake Geneva.
Mom before cancer took her.
I sat down.
For a minute, I wasn't investigating anything.
I was simply a daughter missing her father.
Then I found the envelope.
CLAIRE.
His handwriting.
My hands shook.
Inside was a letter.
Claire,
If you're reading this, something has happened that prevented me from explaining it myself.
My eyes blurred.
I forced myself onward.
I have concerns about David's business dealings. More importantly, I have concerns about the people surrounding him. I may be wrong. I hope I am.
I stopped.
Dominic remained silent behind me.
I continued.
Do not confront him without evidence. Do not let grief make you surrender control of your affairs. Trust documents, not reassurance.
That sentence broke something inside me.
Because that was exactly what I had done.
I had surrendered everything.
There was another page.
If anything happens to me, find Evelyn.
She knows where the second record is.
Second record.
I turned around.
“Dominic.”
He entered.
I showed him.
He read it once.
“Second record?”
“The drive?”
“No. Evelyn gave us the drive. If this letter predates his death, he meant something else.”
We searched.
Inside the filing cabinet were records of David's companies.
Shell corporations.
Loans.
Transfers.
Names I didn't recognize.
One appeared repeatedly.
WEXLER CONSULTING.
“What is that?”
Dominic photographed the page.
“I don't know.”
We opened the computer.
Password protected.
I tried Mom's birthday.
Wrong.
Mine.
Wrong.
Then I noticed a framed photograph beside the monitor.
Dad and me standing outside Wrigley Field.
On the back, he'd written:
Claire's first Cubs game. 8/12/2001. She hated baseball. Loved the hot dogs.
I entered 08122001.
The computer opened.
There were only three folders.
FAMILY.
FINANCIAL.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS.
I clicked the third.
Inside were video files.
The newest was dated two days before Dad died.
I opened it.
My father appeared on screen.
Alive.
Sitting at his desk.
He looked exhausted.
“If Claire is watching this,” he said, “then I failed to keep this away from her.”
My hand covered my mouth.
Dad continued.
“David is involved in financial crimes. But I no longer believe money is the most dangerous part.”
Dominic leaned toward the screen.
“I discovered payments to people connected to cases from my court. David may have been selling information.”
Dad looked directly into the camera.
“I confronted him.”
My heart stopped.
“He denied everything. Then he threatened me.”
The video glitched.
Dad returned.
“I've sent copies to Evelyn. There is one person I still trust completely.”
He paused.
“I will meet him tomorrow.”
The video ended.
“Who?” I whispered.
Dominic searched the folder.
Another file.
Corrupted.
Another.
Empty.
Then we heard something outside.
A metal door closing.
Dominic turned.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I'm done staying behind.”
We stepped into the corridor.
Empty.
At the far end, the exit door moved slowly.
Someone had just gone through it.
Dominic ran.
I followed until pain forced me to stop.
On the floor near the exit lay a photograph.
I picked it up.
My father.
David.
And a third man.
I knew him.
Everyone in my family knew him.
On the back, Dad had written one sentence:
If I die, ask Richard why he lied.
Richard was my father's younger brother.
My Uncle Richard.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One photograph arrived.
It showed me standing inside the storage facility.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
May you like
Beneath it were five words.
DON'T TRUST THE MAN WITH YOU.
