Chapter 3 - Harold’s Last WarningThe door handle stopped moving.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Marcus laughed softly from the other side.
“Come on, Daniel.”
My son's voice had never sounded like that before.
Calm.
Controlled.
Almost cheerful.
“You can't hide her forever.”
I looked at Daniel.
He pointed toward a second door behind a bookshelf.
We moved quietly.
He pulled the shelf forward.
A narrow passage appeared.
“Secret exit?” I whispered.
“Your husband insisted.”
Of course he had.
Harold had apparently spent his final years preparing for a storm he never told me was coming.
We slipped through.
Daniel closed the shelf behind us.
The passage smelled like dust and old paper.
We emerged into a parking garage behind the building.
My hands were shaking.
“What is happening?”
Daniel checked his phone.
No signal.
He led me to his car.
Once inside, he finally spoke.
“Your husband believed someone was trying to gain control of the beach house.”
“Lauren?”
“Possibly.”
“Marcus?”
“Possibly.”
“Both?”
He didn't answer.
That answer was worse.
Daniel drove toward a restaurant on the other side of town.
Only when we were seated in a crowded corner did he continue.
“Harold never accused anyone directly.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn't have proof.”
“What did he have?”
“Patterns.”
Daniel pulled a notebook from his briefcase.
“These are notes your husband gave me.”
He opened it.
Three dates were circled.
March 4.
July 18.
November 26.
“What happened on those dates?”
“Property visits.”
I frowned.
“By whom?”
Daniel pointed.
“People associated with Marcus.”
I looked at the names.
One was a real-estate agent.
Another was a contractor.
The third was a man I didn't recognize.
“Who is Nathan Cole?”
Daniel's face tightened.
“I was hoping you wouldn't ask about him yet.”
“I'm asking now.”
“He was involved in a company Marcus used to work with.”
“What company?”
“Coastal Meridian.”
I had never heard of it.
“What did they do?”
“Property acquisition.”
I felt a chill.
“Why would Marcus be involved in that?”
Daniel closed the notebook.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn't Harold tell me?”
“Because he believed telling you would put you at risk.”
I pushed my chair back.
“My husband kept me safe by lying to me?”
“No.”
Daniel’s expression softened.
“He kept you safe by making sure you could honestly say you didn't know anything.”
That sentence stayed with me.
On the drive back to the motel, I called Marcus.
He answered immediately.
“Mom?”
His voice sounded normal.
Almost warm.
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“You went to Daniel’s office, didn't you?”
My heart stopped.
“How did you know?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Because I told you not to make this bigger than it needed to be.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Marcus, what are you doing?”
“I'm trying to help you.”
“By locking me out of my property?”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
He sighed.
“Mom, Lauren and I have spent months fixing everything.”
“You moved my husband's things.”
“We had to.”
“Why?”
“Because someone had been watching the house.”
My hands tightened.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“That’s convenient.”
His voice hardened.
“Don't go back there.”
“Why?”
“Because it's not safe.”
“What isn't safe?”
“The house.”
I laughed.
“The house is dangerous now?”
“No.”
He paused.
“What's inside it.”
My breath caught.
“What is inside the house?”
He hung up.
I immediately called him back.
Straight to voicemail.
I sat in the motel parking lot for several minutes.
Then I remembered the document.
The signed page Harold had left.
I opened my folder again.
I turned the page over.
For the first time, I noticed something I'd missed.
A tiny handwritten note.
Harold’s handwriting.
Pat, start with the floorboard beneath my chair.
I drove back to the house.
I parked two streets away.
The beach was quiet.
The house looked peaceful.
Almost innocent.
I used the spare key I'd carried in my purse for fifteen years.
The back door opened.
Inside, everything was dark.
I stepped quietly through the kitchen.
The house smelled different.
Not because of the decorations.
Because someone else was living here.
I walked into the living room.
Harold’s chair was gone.
But I remembered exactly where it had stood.
I knelt.
Ran my fingers over the floor.
One plank sounded hollow.
I found a screwdriver in the kitchen.
Five minutes later, I lifted the board.
Beneath it was a metal box.
I opened it.
Inside was a flash drive.
Three photographs.
And a letter.
The letter was addressed to me.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it.
The first line read:
Pat, if you're reading this, then someone has finally done exactly what I feared.
I continued.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
My heart stopped.
And if Marcus is involved, do not trust the person he calls his best friend.
I stared at the name written beneath the sentence.
Nathan Cole.
Behind me, a floorboard creaked.
I turned.
May you like
Someone was standing in the doorway.
And he whispered my name.
