Chapter 3 - The Room Downstairs
There was no basement in the house Daniel and Megan had lived in when they first married.
There was one in the new house.
I had never seen it.
Daniel always called it his wine room.
Ethan called it the room where Mom cried.
Deputy Ortiz stopped asking questions in the middle of my mother’s living room.
She crouched beside Ethan.
“Would you feel safer telling me with Aunt Claire nearby?”
He nodded.
Daniel objected.
“That’s my child. You don’t interview him without me.”
Lena stood.
“I’m not conducting a forensic interview here. I’m assessing immediate safety.”
“There is no safety issue.”
Ethan made a small sound against my side.
Lena looked at Daniel.
“I disagree.”
She called child protective services.
Daniel’s face turned red.
“This is insane.”
“No,” Lena said. “This is procedure.”
I wanted to hug her.
Instead, I held Ethan while he whispered that his mother had sometimes gone downstairs with Daniel and come back crying.
“Did you see what happened?”
He shook his head.
“Dad locked the door.”
“Did your mom ever tell you why?”
“She said grown-up money.”
Daniel muttered, “Enough.”
Lena’s eyes sharpened.
“Sir.”
He walked to the other side of the room.
CPS arranged for Ethan to remain temporarily with my mother while law enforcement reviewed the new information.
Daniel demanded custody.
He did not get it that night.
Not after the recording.
Not after Ethan’s panic.
Not after the burial hold.
At 12:43 a.m., Lena drove me to the old bus station off Patton Avenue.
The building was nearly empty.
Fluorescent lights.
Vending machines.
A janitor pushing a yellow bucket down the corridor.
Locker 214 sat in the back row.
The brass key fit.
Inside was a canvas tote bag.
Nothing dramatic.
No gun.
No stacks of cash.
Just paper.
A laptop.
A small external drive.
Three prescription bottles.
And an envelope addressed to me.
Lena told me not to touch the electronics.
We photographed everything first.
Then I opened the envelope.
Claire,
If you are reading this, I failed to get away cleanly.
I had to stop.
My hands shook.
Lena waited.
I kept reading.
Daniel has been using my identity to guarantee loans for Hart Mountain Development. He says they are temporary bridge loans. They are not.
There were photocopies of loan documents.
Signatures that looked like Megan’s.
Her name listed as guarantor.
Property she did not own pledged as collateral.
Then another sheet.
A company called Ridgewell Services LLC.
Owner: Judith Hart.
Daniel’s mother.
Another.
Stone Vale Consulting.
Owner: Owen Hart.
Daniel’s older brother.
Payments moved from Hart Mountain Development into both entities.
Millions over four years.
Lena said, “Do you know this business?”
“Daniel’s development company.”
“Your sister worked there?”
“She did bookkeeping when they started. She left after Ethan was born.”
“Why would she still have signing authority?”
“She shouldn’t.”
The letter continued.
Three months ago, Megan discovered a new loan application in her email.
Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Purpose: emergency construction financing.
She confronted Daniel.
He told her she had signed it.
She said she had not.
He showed her a digital audit trail using her credentials.
Then he told her no bank would believe she forgot authorizing her own company.
Except it was not her company.
It had never been.
Lena’s phone rang.
She stepped away.
I kept reading.
If anything happens to me, do not let them say stress made me confused. Daniel has started telling people I am depressed. Judith told our family doctor I was “spiraling.” I am not.
I looked at the prescription bottles.
Sertraline.
Clonazepam.
A sleep medication.
All prescribed within six weeks.
The names on the labels were Megan’s.
The prescribing physician was Dr. Aaron Weller.
The county medical examiner.
I stared.
“Lena.”
She came back.
“What?”
I handed her the bottle.
She read the name.
Her face tightened.
“He prescribed these?”
“Yes.”
“The medical examiner?”
“And family doctor, apparently.”
She photographed all three.
The last page of Megan’s letter said:
The upstairs fall will be believable because Daniel keeps telling people I get dizzy on the medication.
I stopped breathing.
Lena took the page.
She read it twice.
“Megan wrote this before she died?”
“It’s dated eleven days ago.”
The station suddenly felt much colder.
The phrase upstairs fall.
Not if I fall.
Not I’m afraid I’ll fall.
The fall will be believable.
As if someone had already described it.
Then Lena’s phone rang again.
This time, she answered and listened.
Her posture changed.
“What?”
She turned toward me.
“The medical examiner’s office says Megan’s body is already scheduled to be transferred out of county jurisdiction at six a.m.”
“Transferred where?”
“Cremation.”
I stared at her.
“She was supposed to be buried.”
“I know.”
“Daniel told us burial.”
“I know.”
Lena was already dialing.
I looked at the wall clock.
1:07 a.m.
Less than five hours.
Someone had changed the plan.
And if we had closed the casket when Daniel wanted, Megan’s body would have been gone before breakfast.
— — —
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
May you like
If you enjoyed the story, bookmark my site: https://metro.treeiq.biz
New stories are posted daily, so check back for updates.
