Chapter 8 - The Storage UnitThe storage facility sat behind an abandoned strip mall.
There were no cameras visible from the road.
No security lights.
Nothing that made the place look important.
Which meant it probably was.
Claire stayed across the street.
I entered alone.
My father had texted me a unit number.
B-17.
The manager checked my ID against a visitor log and waved me through.
I walked slowly.
Unit A-14.
A-15.
A-16.
B-17.
The lock was new.
Too new.
I entered the code my father had sent.
The door rolled upward.
Inside were boxes.
Dozens.
Bank statements.
Old photographs.
Furniture.
Legal files.
A stack of envelopes.
And in the center, a metal filing cabinet.
My heart began racing.
I opened the top drawer.
Power of attorney.
Loan agreements.
Property transfers.
Vehicle documents.
Copies of my identification.
Everything.
It was all there.
But the strangest thing was what wasn't there.
The original power of attorney.
I searched every folder.
Nothing.
I called Claire.
“It's here.”
“Everything?”
“Almost.”
“What is missing?”
“The power of attorney.”
She went silent.
“Look again.”
I did.
Then I noticed a small envelope taped beneath the drawer.
I pulled it free.
Inside was a handwritten note.
THE ORIGINAL IS WHERE SHE BROUGHT HER FIRST SAVINGS.
I stared at the words.
“What does that mean?”
Claire asked.
I knew.
My old apartment.
The place where I had lived when I was twenty-two.
The place where I first gave my parents money.
I hadn't lived there in years.
But my parents still had access to the basement storage room.
I left the unit.
Before closing the door, I took photographs of everything.
I didn't touch the documents.
I didn't remove anything.
Just photographed.
As I walked away, a vehicle entered the facility.
Black SUV.
Tinted windows.
My father's.
I ducked behind a concrete barrier.
He got out.
Tyler was with him.
Dad opened the storage unit.
He didn't notice me.
I raised my phone.
Recording.
Dad walked inside.
Tyler asked, “Is the document still there?”
Dad replied, “Yes.”
I froze.
The original power of attorney was there.
But where?
Dad pulled a folder from the cabinet.
“This is the one she signed.”
Tyler looked uneasy.
“Did she really sign it?”
Dad smiled.
“She signed enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we don't need a perfect signature.”
Tyler's face tightened.
“Dad…”
“What?”
“If Nora finds out—”
“She won't.”
“And if she does?”
Dad turned toward him.
“She'll be too busy defending herself.”
“Against what?”
Dad smiled.
“The house.”
He pulled another folder from the cabinet.
Inside was a deed.
Tyler stared at it.
“You already transferred it?”
Dad nodded.
“To whom?”
Dad looked toward the door.
Then lowered his voice.
“An offshore company.”
I felt my pulse thunder in my ears.
Claire needed to hear this.
I raised my phone slightly.
Then Dad said something that made me almost drop it.
“Nora doesn't own the house anymore.”
I stopped breathing.
Dad continued.
“She just doesn't know it yet.”
Tyler looked horrified.
“You used her power of attorney.”
“Exactly.”
“But the property transfer needs—”
“Not when the power of attorney gives me authority.”
My stomach twisted.
The document wasn't simply about money.
It gave my father the ability to act as me.
To sell.
To borrow.
To transfer.
To sign.
Without me.
I backed away slowly.
Then my shoe hit a metal object.
Clang.
Dad stopped talking.
Tyler looked toward the doorway.
I ran.
I heard Dad shout.
“Nora!”
I sprinted through the corridor.
Tyler followed.
I reached the exit.
A security guard shouted after me.
I didn't stop.
I jumped into Claire's car.
She accelerated.
Dad appeared in the doorway behind us.
He didn't chase.
He simply stood there.
Watching.
Claire glanced at me.
“What happened?”
“He has the power of attorney.”
“Did you get it?”
“No.”
“Did you record him?”
I looked at my phone.
“Yes.”
Claire's face tightened.
“Then we have enough to act.”
My phone vibrated.
One new message.
From Dad.
You should've stayed at home.
Another arrived immediately.
Now I know exactly what you're doing.
Then a third.
And I know where you live.
I stared at the screen.
Claire took the phone from my hand.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She showed me the message.
There was a photograph attached.
My apartment.
May you like
Taken from across the street.
And the timestamp was from eight minutes earlier.
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