Ruiz took my phone before I could answer.
“No replies without us.”
“My sister is in that house.”
“I know.”
“No, you know there’s a house. I know who’s inside it.”
Ruiz held my gaze.
“And that is exactly why you’re not walking into it alone.”
Brian stood beside me, reading the last message again over Ruiz’s shoulder.
OR YOUR SISTER PAYS FOR THE MONEY YOUR FAMILY STOLE.
“My family,” he said quietly.
Patricia looked down.
The phrase had landed on her too.
Eric had not written your money.
Not Raymond’s money.
Family money.
Which meant the nearly two million dollars mattered to him as inheritance, entitlement, or both.
Daniel moved toward the window.
“Where is Angela’s sister now?”
“At home.”
“Alone?”
“She should be.”
My stomach turned at the phrase.
Should be.
Everything bad in the last six months seemed to live inside assumptions.
Ruiz began issuing orders.
Two unmarked vehicles went toward my sister’s street without lights or sirens. Another team started tracing the phone that sent the messages.
The number was disposable.
No surprise.
Brian asked Patricia, “Where is Dad’s emergency fund?”
She folded her arms tightly.
“I won’t say.”
“Eric already knows you know.”
“He doesn’t know the location.”
“Then tell Ruiz.”
“No.”
I turned.
“My sister may have a gun pointed at her.”
Patricia flinched.
“You think I don’t understand that?”
“I think you’ve spent decades deciding what other people are allowed to know.”
Her eyes hardened.
“This money is bigger than you understand.”
“So was my marriage.”
She looked away.
That ended the argument.
The first team reached my sister’s street seven minutes later.
Ruiz listened through an earpiece.
“No visible movement.”
I could hear my heartbeat.
“What about her car?”
“Still there.”
“Front door?”
“Closed.”
Ruiz repeated instructions.
The officers approached from the rear.
Another covered the front.
Nobody answered the door.
They entered.
Thirty seconds felt like half an hour.
Then Ruiz’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“House is clear.”
I nearly collapsed.
“Where is she?”
Ruiz listened.
“Her purse is gone. So are her keys.”
“Taken?”
“Maybe.”
My phone vibrated in Ruiz’s hand.
New image.
My sister sitting in the passenger seat of a car.
Her hands were visible.
No restraints.
Her face looked frightened but uninjured.
Behind her, through the window, I recognized a highway overpass.
Below the image:
SHE CAME WILLINGLY. DON’T MAKE THAT CHANGE.
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Brian said, “Eric told her something.”
Another message arrived.
BRING PATRICIA TO THE OLD HOUSE. ANGELA COMES TOO. NO POLICE.
Ruiz asked, “What old house?”
Brian and Patricia answered together.
“Maple Avenue.”
His childhood home.
The house where we had found Raymond’s second archive.
Daniel exhaled.
“Of course.”
Eric had purchased the property through a shell company.
He knew its layout.
He had already spent years searching it.
If he wanted a meeting site, it gave him control.
Ruiz looked at Patricia.
“What does he believe is still there?”
“The money isn’t there.”
“That was not my question.”
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“He may think Raymond left instructions.”
Brian stared at her.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
Ruiz stepped closer.
“Patricia.”
“In the basement.”
Brian laughed without humor.
“We were just there.”
“You found the evidence box.”
“What else is there?”
Patricia looked at him.
“Your father built a second compartment.”
Brian’s face changed.
“Where?”
“Not under the stairs.”
“Then where?”
She whispered, “Behind the furnace wall.”
Ruiz sent officers back immediately.
Ten minutes later they reported the compartment empty.
Except for a single envelope.
It was addressed to Patricia.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
Raymond’s handwriting.
Patricia stared when Ruiz placed it on the table.
“I never knew.”
“Open it,” Brian said.
Her hands shook.
Inside was a sheet of paper and an old brass key.
The note was short.
If Eric ever asks about the emergency reserve, do not give him cash. Give him this key. If he understands what it opens, he will either run or confess.
Brian looked at Andrew.
“What does that mean?”
Andrew shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The key was larger than the C-114 key.
Heavy.
Old-fashioned.
A number had been engraved into it.
17.
Patricia whispered, “The locker.”
“What locker?”
She looked at Brian.
“Your father had a safe-deposit box under a false name when you were young.”
“Which bank?”
“Not a bank.”
Ruiz waited.
Patricia swallowed.
“Train station.”
The old central station had shut its passenger service nineteen years earlier.
Parts of the building had been converted to offices and storage.
Its original luggage lockers remained in the basement, though most were supposedly unused.
“Locker seventeen?” Daniel asked.
Patricia nodded.
Brian frowned.
“Why would Dad hide two million dollars in a train station locker?”
“He didn’t.”
Everyone looked at her.
“The cash was moved years ago.”
“Then what’s in seventeen?”
Patricia stared at Raymond’s note.
“I don’t know.”
The phone vibrated again.
Eric.
TIME.
Ruiz made a decision.
We would go to Maple Avenue.
Not alone.
Eric would believe we were alone.
Patricia objected.
“He’ll be watching.”
“Good,” Ruiz said. “Let him.”
I looked at her.
“What about my sister?”
“We need him talking.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Ruiz’s expression softened slightly.
“We are going to do everything possible to bring her home.”
Possible.
Not promised.
I appreciated the difference.
Before leaving, Patricia pulled me aside.
“If he asks about the money, let me speak.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks I’m afraid of him.”
“Aren’t you?”
She considered.
“Yes.”
At least that answer was honest.
We drove to Maple Avenue in Brian’s truck because Eric would recognize it.
Patricia sat in front.
I sat behind her.
A small microphone had been concealed inside my jacket.
Police remained several blocks away.
Brian was not with us.
He hated that.
Ruiz refused to allow it.
Eric had asked for me and Patricia.
Adding Brian would change the equation.
As we approached the house, I saw lights upstairs.
My sister’s car was not there.
No sign of Eric’s vehicle.
The front door stood slightly open.
Patricia whispered, “That’s deliberate.”
“How do you know?”
“Victor used to do that.”
I looked at her.
“Eric learned from him.”
“Yes.”
We entered.
The house smelled of dust, plaster and cold wood.
“Eric?”
No answer.
My voice echoed.
Patricia moved toward the hallway.
I caught her sleeve.
“Together.”
She looked at my hand.
Then at me.
And nodded.
We reached the kitchen.
On the table sat an object I recognized immediately.
My sister’s phone.
Beside it was a photograph.
Not of my sister.
Of me.
Taken outside the hospital months earlier.
Another photograph beneath it showed Brian leaving a hotel.
Another showed Patricia entering our house while Brian and I were away.
Eric had surveilled us long before the withdrawals began.
Patricia stared at the image of herself.
“He knew.”
“What?”
“That I took your license.”
A speaker crackled from somewhere in the house.
Eric’s voice.
“I knew everything.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
“Where is my sister?”
“Safe.”
“I want to hear her.”
“You will.”
Patricia said, “Eric.”
His voice changed slightly.
“Aunt Pat.”
“You have the wrong person.”
“For what?”
“The money.”
He laughed.
“You always were terrible at lying when you were frightened.”
“What do you want?”
“The key.”
Patricia froze.
He knew.
Ruiz’s officers, listening remotely, heard it too.
“How do you know about the key?” Patricia asked.
“Raymond told my father.”
“Your father is dead.”
“Because of you.”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“You sent Elaine to him.”
“I didn’t know what he would do.”
“You gave him the location.”
Patricia’s voice trembled.
“That does not make Elaine’s death my choice.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You never gave me that mercy.”
Silence.
Eric continued.
“My father spent the rest of his life afraid because Raymond blamed him.”
“He killed her.”
“Victor ordered it.”
“And your father obeyed.”
“Just like you obeyed Victor.”
Patricia closed her eyes.
That was the wound Eric understood best.
He had built years of control around it.
I spoke.
“Where is my sister?”
“You really don’t like being ignored.”
“No.”
“That’s why Raymond liked you.”
“You never knew Raymond the way you think you did.”
Eric laughed again.
“I knew him better than Brian.”
“Maybe.”
The word stopped him.
I continued.
“But not better than he knew you.”
The speaker went silent.
Patricia looked at me.
I reached into my pocket and removed Raymond’s brass key.
Ruiz had allowed us to bring it because Eric needed to see it.
“I have what you want.”
Eric returned.
“Put it on the table.”
“No.”
“Angela.”
“My sister first.”
“You don’t set terms.”
“I do if this is the only key.”
Silence.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
Patricia looked toward the ceiling.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone descended.
Not Eric.
My sister appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Angela.”
I ran toward her.
She came down quickly and grabbed me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
She looked confused.
“He left.”
Patricia turned.
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
My stomach dropped.
The speaker crackled.
Eric laughed.
“I told you she was safe.”
I looked around.
This had never been the meeting.
It was a distraction.
Ruiz’s voice came faintly through my hidden receiver.
“Angela, get out now.”
I grabbed my sister’s hand.
Patricia understood at the same time I did.
“Locker seventeen.”
Eric had wanted the key visible.
He wanted confirmation Patricia had found Raymond’s note.
And he wanted police focused on Maple Avenue.
Patricia reached toward the table.
The brass key was gone.
I stared at the empty spot where I had placed it.
My sister whispered, “A man came through the kitchen before you arrived.”
“What man?”
“He wore a police jacket.”
Ruiz’s voice sharpened in my ear.
“Describe him.”
My sister did.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Late forties.
Patricia went white.
“I know him.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“One of the names in Raymond’s ledger.”
“A policeman?”
She nodded.
“Captain Douglas Reed.”
The honest-officer list had contained Thomas Avery.
The payment list contained several others.
Douglas Reed was one.
A corrupt officer still inside the department.
And he had just walked out of the house carrying the key Raymond said would make Eric either run or confess.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: Locker Seventeen Contained No Money, Only Evidence That Eric’s Father Had Left Him a Choice He Spent Years Refusing to Make
The Morning My Husband Put Four Bank Slips on the Table and Asked Me Where Our Future Had Gone
Part 17 of 26
