Chapter 5 - The ReservationBy Sunday morning, I had canceled everything.
The lodge.
The chef.
The photographer.
The vans.
The entertainment.
The grocery service.
I also froze my credit.
The immediate crisis was contained.
But another problem remained.
Mom.
She was still calling.
Twenty-four times.
Then thirty.
Then forty.
At 10:05, she left a voicemail.
Her voice was shaking.
"Claire, please call me. Something has happened."
I deleted it.
Ten minutes later, another voicemail.
"Your sister is furious."
Deleted.
Then:
"People are arriving tomorrow."
Deleted.
Finally:
"We need you."
I almost smiled.
They hadn't needed me when I was sleeping on the floor.
Now they needed me because my credit card had disappeared.
That evening, I received an email from the lodge owner.
Claire, I need to speak with you urgently. Please call me.
I did.
Daniel answered immediately.
"Thank you."
"What happened?"
"The lodge contacted your mother to tell her the reservation was canceled."
"Okay."
"She said she would sue us."
I sighed.
"That sounds like Mom."
"It isn't the lawsuit that worries me."
"What is it?"
"She asked about the locked basement room."
My heart skipped.
"What locked room?"
"The owner’s storage room downstairs."
"Why would she know about it?"
"Because your father stored something there."
I sat up.
"What?"
"I don't know."
"You've been the owner for eight years."
"I bought the property after your father died."
That stopped me.
"You bought it after his death?"
"Yes."
"From whom?"
Daniel went quiet.
"Claire, I need you to hear me carefully."
I waited.
"Your mother wanted the property sold immediately."
"And?"
"Your father had already transferred it."
"To who?"
Daniel's voice dropped.
"You."
The room spun.
"That's impossible."
"Your father owned the lodge company through a holding entity."
I remembered nothing about it.
"He left it in trust?"
"Yes."
"Why don't I own it now?"
"Because someone transferred control before the trust matured."
"Who?"
Daniel hesitated.
"That's what the documents in the basement prove."
I stood.
"Where are they?"
"Still there."
"Can I get them?"
"Not safely."
"Why?"
"Because your mother knows I'm talking to you."
I looked toward the hotel window.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Come alone."
"No."
"Claire..."
"I have children."
"I understand."
"I don't go anywhere alone."
Daniel was silent.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Then bring the children."
"What?"
"They are the reason your father believed you would eventually understand."
Before I could ask more, the line went dead.
An hour later, my email pinged.
A new attachment.
A photograph of the basement door.
Under it:
Your mother has already been here once.
I stared at the photograph.
The lock was broken.
Someone had entered.
The documents might already be gone.
Unless whoever entered had been looking for something else.
I enlarged the image.
There was a red mark painted on the door.
A symbol.
Three vertical lines inside a circle.
I had seen it before.
On my father's old toolbox.
I suddenly remembered something from childhood.
Whenever my father wanted to tell me something privately, he'd draw that symbol at the bottom of a note.
It meant one thing.
Look underneath.
May you like
I didn't know what lay under that basement.
But I knew I had to find out.
