Chapter 7 - THE LOCKED ROOM
The call wasn’t what Paige expected.
It was Sergeant First Class Nolan, an old friend checking whether I had arrived home safely.
Nothing more.
I didn’t correct Paige.
I let her think her threat had worked.
“Everything okay?” Nolan asked.
I looked straight at my sister.
“Getting there.”
After I hung up, Paige’s confidence slipped.
I took Gwen’s bag.
“We’re leaving.”
Margaret appeared at the end of the hall.
“What is going on?”
“Gwen needs medical care.”
“We take care of her.”
“No. You don’t.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
There was no warmth now.
No motherly concern.
Just control.
“If she leaves this house,” she said, “you’re going to regret it.”
I almost smiled.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice.”
“Good. I’ll remember it.”
Gwen and I walked out.
I took her to a hotel under Marcus’s name.
Then I returned alone.
Margaret looked surprised when she saw me.
“Where’s Gwen?”
“Resting.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
Paige came down the stairs.
“You can’t just take her.”
I looked at her.
“She’s thirty-four years old.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“We need to discuss the financial situation.”
“Tomorrow.”
I went upstairs.
Paige followed.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to bed.”
“That’s our room.”
I stopped.
“My office is your bedroom?”
“You were gone.”
“So you moved into my office.”
“You weren’t using it.”
I laughed once.
“Get out.”
She stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Something flickered in her eyes.
She walked inside, grabbed her purse and a few things, then pushed past me.
“Asshole.”
I closed the door.
Then I started searching.
Most of my old belongings were gone.
The desk was new.
The filing cabinet was locked.
I opened drawers.
Receipts.
Jewelry boxes.
Credit card statements.
Nothing useful.
Then I noticed scratches on the hardwood floor beside a bookcase.
I pushed it.
Behind it was a narrow door.
Locked.
I had never seen that door before.
Marcus had warned me not to destroy anything, so I didn’t force it open.
I checked Paige’s desk again.
Under a tray of cosmetics, I found a ring of keys.
The smallest one opened the hidden door.
Inside was a windowless storage room.
There were file boxes everywhere.
A shredder.
Three old cell phones.
Gwen’s laptop.
Stacks of mail addressed to me.
Dozens of envelopes.
Unopened.
My name.
My unit address.
All of them in Gwen’s handwriting.
She had tried to reach me.
They had never mailed the letters.
Then I noticed a black binder labeled:
DAVID — INSURANCE.
I opened it.
The first page contained a life insurance policy.
The second contained a beneficiary-change request.
My signature was forged again.
And the new beneficiary was not Gwen.
May you like
It was Margaret.
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