Chapter 7 - The VaultI watched the recording twice.
Then a third time.
She is the vault.
Those words haunted me.
I barely remembered driving to the address Stephanie had given me.
The house belonged to Harold Price, Donald's former financial advisor.
He opened the door before I knocked.
He looked at me and immediately stepped aside.
“Donald warned me you'd come.”
I froze.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Stephanie?”
He didn't answer.
“Is she alive?”
Harold closed the door.
“I don't know.”
My heart sank.
He led me to a study.
On the desk was a large black book.
“This belonged to Donald.”
“What is it?”
“His private ledger.”
I opened it.
Names.
Numbers.
Dates.
Investment accounts.
Corporations.
But one thing appeared repeatedly.
THE ELLIS TRUST
“What is this?”
Harold sat down.
“Your husband created a trust in your name.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because he wanted you to live normally.”
“How much?”
Harold looked at me.
“Approximately $8.4 million.”
I stared at him.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
“But we weren't rich.”
“Donald invested extremely well.”
“Then why did we live so modestly?”
“He believed money was safer when no one knew about it.”
I started crying.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Harold reached for a sealed envelope.
“This is why.”
I opened it.
Donald's handwriting.
Margaret, money changes people. I never wanted money to change you.
I couldn't continue reading.
Harold took over.
“Donald suspected someone in the family was being influenced.”
“Stephanie?”
“Yes.”
“By David?”
“By a larger network.”
“What network?”
Harold opened another folder.
Inside were company names.
Shell corporations.
Investment firms.
Private trusts.
Thomas Reed appeared repeatedly.
“He helped wealthy people move money through layers of corporations,” Harold said.
“And my money?”
“Some was targeted.”
“How much was stolen?”
“About $3.1 million.”
My stomach turned.
“Can we get it back?”
“Possibly.”
“What does that mean?”
“The remaining money is protected.”
“Where?”
Harold looked directly at me.
“It's not in an account.”
“What?”
“Donald converted part of it into assets.”
“Which assets?”
He pushed another file toward me.
Inside were property deeds.
Several of them.
I recognized one immediately.
My old house.
I stared at it.
“The house?”
“Donald bought it back through a holding company.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“After you sold it, he had someone purchase the property anonymously.”
“But I lived there.”
“Then Stephanie sold the house again.”
My head spun.
“Sold it to whom?”
Harold showed me the document.
Hale Development Group.
My daughter hadn't merely taken my home.
She had helped move it through several transactions.
But the final page revealed something strange.
A handwritten notation.
DO NOT TRUST THE TITLE.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Harold leaned closer.
“The house was used as collateral.”
“For what?”
“A loan.”
“How large?”
“$2.9 million.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who borrowed the money?”
Harold pointed to the final document.
A company connected to Thomas.
“So my house secured their loan?”
“Yes.”
“And if they default?”
“The lender takes the property.”
I stared at the paperwork.
Then another thought struck me.
“Why would Donald buy back a house he knew was being used?”
Harold didn't answer.
Instead, he opened a drawer.
He removed a key.
“This is the last thing Donald left.”
A brass key.
Small.
Old-fashioned.
Engraved with a single number.
17
“What does it open?”
“I don't know.”
“You never asked?”
“Donald told me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because he said the person holding this key would eventually need it.”
I turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
Three words.
Look beneath home.
I remembered the basement.
The safe.
The documents.
Then I remembered something else.
A room in our old house.
Donald's workshop.
There was a trapdoor under the workbench.
I had forgotten about it.
I stood up.
Harold looked alarmed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You don't have a home.”
I looked at him.
“Yes, I do.”
He shook his head.
“Margaret, the house is being watched.”
“Then I'll go anyway.”
I walked to the door.
Harold grabbed my arm.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Donald didn't hide the money because he was afraid of thieves.”
He paused.
“He hid it because he was afraid of his own family.”
My heart sank.
“Stephanie?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Harold looked toward the window.
“Your son.”
May you like
I froze.
“Donald had another child.”
