We left the lake house before sunrise.
Nobody suggested sleeping.
Reed drove while Aaron sat beside him, reviewing the estate documents under the dashboard light. Joanna stayed in the second vehicle with Diane and Ross. I sat in the back, holding the hospital ledger inside Frank’s black case.
I kept touching the latch.
It was ridiculous, but I needed to feel something solid.
Frank was alive.
That fact should have been the only thing that mattered.
Instead, every mile toward the courthouse made me more aware of how much could still be taken from us.
The courthouse opened at eight.
Frank’s original will was scheduled for filing at nine.
And someone inside law enforcement knew exactly where we were going.
Reed had stopped using his radio.
“Until we know who is compromised,” he said, “we don't transmit our location.”
“What about Frank?”
“We find him after we secure the courthouse.”
“I want him found first.”
Reed glanced at me through the mirror.
“So do I.”
He sounded different now.
Less like an investigator following a case and more like a man who had realized someone had been manipulating the investigation from the beginning.
At 7:42, my phone vibrated.
A text.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT YOUR HUSBAND ALIVE.
A photograph followed.
Frank sat in a wooden chair.
His hands were tied.
His face was bruised.
Behind him stood a man wearing a dark coat.
Caleb.
I stared at the image until the words blurred.
Reed pulled onto the shoulder.
“What happened?”
I showed him.
His jaw tightened.
“He's alive.”
“That wasn't the reassuring part.”
“No.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Look at the background.”
I zoomed in.
A window.
A green curtain.
A brass lamp.
Then I recognized it.
“Frank's old office.”
Reed nodded.
“The company building.”
“We passed it.”
“Not the current building.”
He shook his head.
“The original one.”
Frank's first business office had been closed for years.
It stood on the outskirts of town, attached to an old warehouse.
Caleb knew the place.
So did Frank.
And so did I.
Frank had taken me there once, early in our marriage, when we were still learning how to share the pieces of each other's lives.
We reached it at 8:03.
The front door was unlocked.
Reed signaled for us to wait.
Then he entered.
A minute later he returned.
“Empty.”
My heart sank.
But then he pointed toward the rear corridor.
“There's a basement.”
We followed.
At the bottom of the stairs, we found the chair from the photograph.
The ropes were still there.
So was a drop of blood on the floor.
Frank had been there recently.
But he was gone.
On the desk sat another note.
This one was written in Frank's handwriting.
Red, don't come looking for me.
I laughed bitterly.
“He knows me badly.”
Reed took the note.
There was something beneath it.
A courthouse parking receipt.
Time stamped 8:07.
Someone had wanted us to find the room.
Someone wanted us to believe Frank had been moved toward the courthouse.
Then Aaron noticed the second line on the receipt.
Vehicle registration.
A patrol car.
Reed's expression changed.
“Whose?”
He read the number.
Then went completely still.
“My partner's.”
The compromised officer wasn't an unknown person.
It was someone Reed had worked beside for twelve years.
Officer Martin Shaw.
I remembered him from the funeral.
He had stood near the cemetery gate.
He had offered me his condolences.
And he had carried the same dark leather gloves shown in the photograph.
Reed called him.
No answer.
Then the courthouse alarm sounded.
We ran.
By 8:26, the courthouse steps were crowded with police.
Smoke poured from a side entrance.
A clerk shouted that a fire had started in the records room.
The timing was too perfect.
The original will was stored there.
Aaron grabbed my arm.
“Stay with me.”
We entered through the main doors.
Smoke stung my eyes.
Sprinklers had activated overhead.
Water poured from the ceiling.
People rushed toward the exits.
Reed shouted orders.
Joanna headed toward the records office.
Then a man stepped from the corridor.
Martin Shaw.
He held a handgun.
“Stop.”
Reed froze.
“Martin.”
Shaw's eyes moved to me.
“Give me the ledger.”
I tightened my grip on the case.
“No.”
“Then Frank dies.”
Reed stared at him.
“Where is he?”
Shaw smiled.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
He pointed the gun toward Aaron.
“Ask why Frank changed his will.”
Aaron's face hardened.
“Because he wanted to protect Eileen.”
“No.”
Shaw shook his head.
“Because Frank knew what was coming.”
The building alarm continued screaming.
Shaw backed toward the exit.
Then Diane appeared behind him.
“Martin.”
He turned.
She held up her hands.
“Margaret lied to you.”
Shaw's expression changed.
“She lied to all of us.”
Diane took one step closer.
“She doesn't want the ledger.”
Shaw's jaw tightened.
“She wants Eileen dead.”
That was the first time someone had said it plainly.
Not as a threat.
As a plan.
Diane kept walking.
“She told you Caleb was the one controlling everything.”
Shaw said nothing.
“But it isn't Caleb.”
His eyes flicked toward her.
“Then who?”
Diane looked at me.
“Margaret.”
A loud crash came from the records room.
Flames burst through the doorway.
Shaw turned.
Reed moved.
The gun went off.
The bullet struck the ceiling.
Reed tackled him.
The weapon skidded across the wet floor.
I dropped beside the ledger.
Aaron grabbed it.
Joanna shouted.
“The will!”
She disappeared into the smoke.
Seconds later, she emerged carrying a metal document box.
The original will was inside.
Untouched.
The fire had been designed to destroy everything around it, but the box had survived.
Shaw was handcuffed.
Reed stood over him.
“Where's Frank?”
Shaw refused to answer.
Diane stepped closer.
“Tell him.”
Shaw looked at her.
“He'll never forgive you.”
“I know.”
“He trusted you.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“But I'm done being afraid of her.”
Shaw finally looked at me.
“Margaret has Frank.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“Your mother's house.”
“My mother is dead.”
“I'm not talking about the house you inherited.”
He smiled.
“The other one.”
I remembered the photograph.
The lake.
The red coat.
My mother had owned another property before I was born.
A cottage near the coast.
One Frank had never mentioned.
Shaw gave me the address.
Then he said something else.
“Go quickly.”
“Why?”
“Because Caleb isn't guarding Frank.”
His eyes moved to Diane.
“Diane is.”
I looked at my sister.
She shook her head.
“No.”
But Shaw was already being taken away.
I wanted to believe her.
Then I saw the small brass key hanging from her necklace.
The same key Frank had hidden in the storage unit.
The key to the cottage.
Diane touched it unconsciously.
And I realized she had known where Margaret was taking Frank long before any of us reached the courthouse.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Cottage Held the Last Piece of Frank’s Plan, but Diane’s Hidden Key Suggested She Had Known More Than She Ever Admitted
An Hour After Frank Was Buried, His Children Started Claiming My Furniture—and Then a Stranger Arrived Exactly on Schedule
Part 9 of 12
