Chapter 8: The Last Drawer

Daniel struck the door again.

“Vanessa! Open it!””

I looked at her.

“What is he talking about?””

She shook her head.

“Don't listen to him.””

“Then tell me the truth.””

“He'll twist everything.””

Another blow rattled the doorframe.

I grabbed my phone and called the police.

Daniel heard me speaking.

“Emily, don't you dare!””

I gave the dispatcher our address and explained that someone was trying to force entry.

Within minutes, I heard a car engine outside.

Daniel's footsteps moved away from the porch.

Through the window, I watched his SUV reverse sharply and disappear down the street.

Vanessa sank into a chair.

I ended the call.

“Now you're going to tell me everything.””

She nodded slowly.

But before she could speak, my phone rang.

Mr. Bennett.

“Emily, where are you?””

“At home.””

“Is Vanessa with you?””

I looked at her.

“Yes.””

“Don't let her leave.””

“Why?””

“Because I just received a call from someone claiming to represent the company. They've reported that confidential property documents have been stolen.””

I frowned.

“Which documents?””

“The original trust agreement.””

I looked at Vanessa.

She shook her head.

“I don't have it.””

Mr. Bennett continued.

“Daniel has also filed a complaint accusing you of accessing restricted company property.””

I felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat.

“He locked me in a shed yesterday.””

“I know. But he is trying to establish a different version of events before you can present the evidence.””

“Can he do that?””

“He can try.””

I ended the call and placed my phone on the table.

Vanessa looked exhausted.

“Daniel will never stop.””

“Then we need to find the original evidence.””

She nodded.

“The greenhouse.””

We drove there just before sunrise.

The old greenhouse had been demolished fifteen years earlier, but its stone foundation remained behind the orchard.

My father had planted lavender along the edge.

I remembered him telling me that the flowers were difficult to grow but worth the effort.

At the time, I thought he was talking about gardening.

Now I wondered whether he had been talking about something else.

Vanessa pointed toward the foundation.

“The filing cabinet was underneath the old workbench.””

“There was a basement?””

“Not exactly. There was a storage compartment beneath the floor.””

We moved aside several broken paving stones.

Beneath them was a rectangular metal cover.

I knelt and examined it.

There was a small lock.

I took the iron key from my pocket.

It fit.

The cover opened with a groan.

A narrow staircase descended into darkness.

I switched on my phone flashlight.

The room below was smaller than the one in the garden shed.

Its walls were reinforced with concrete.

At the far end stood an old metal filing cabinet.

The red sticker was still attached to the bottom drawer.

I approached it.

“Why did your mother choose this place?”” I asked.

Vanessa stood behind me.

“She said nobody would search somewhere that no longer existed.””

I pulled the bottom drawer.

It wouldn't move.

I tried again.

Then I remembered the photograph.

*THE LAST DRAWER HAS TWO BOTTOMS.*

I ran my fingers along the inside.

There was a small metal latch beneath the drawer.

I pressed it.

A false bottom lifted.

Inside was a plastic folder containing several documents.

The first was a handwritten list of bank accounts.

The second was a series of photographs showing Daniel meeting a man outside a private office.

The third was a medical report.

I picked it up.

My mother's name appeared at the top.

Below it were the details of her final hospital admission.

I read the document carefully.

The recorded cause of death was cardiac arrest.

But there was another section.

Medication discrepancy noted during emergency treatment.

My fingers went cold.

“What does that mean?””

Vanessa moved closer.

“Emily…”

I continued reading.

The report stated that my mother had received a medication that was not listed in her prescribed treatment plan.

The exact substance wasn't identified in the copy.

A note had been added by the attending physician:

Patient's condition deteriorated rapidly. Family member reports possible administration of an unidentified sedative prior to emergency services arriving.

I looked up.

“Who reported this?””

Vanessa's face crumpled.

“I did.””

“You told the doctor?””

“Yes.””

“Then why wasn't it investigated?””

“Daniel told me the doctor had made a mistake. He said I was confused and frightened.””

I looked at her.

“Did you give her something?””

“No.””

“Did Daniel?””

She shook her head.

“I don't know.””

I placed the medical report down.

There was another envelope underneath.

It was addressed to my father.

I opened it.

Richard,

I have copied the original account records and the statements from the hospital. Daniel has been moving money through a company registered under another person's name. I believe he intends to transfer the property before you discover the full amount.

The person helping him is not who you think.

Please protect Emily.

Margaret.

I stared at the final sentence.

“The person helping him…”

Vanessa leaned over my shoulder.

“There's another page.””

I turned the letter over.

A name was written in the bottom corner.

Not Daniel.

Not Vanessa.

Not Mr. Bennett.

It was Patricia.

My aunt.

I felt the room become unbearably cold.

Aunt Patricia had stood at the funeral and told me that tradition meant the house belonged to Daniel.

She had defended him at every opportunity.

She had even helped him demand my key.

“Why would Patricia be involved?””

Vanessa stepped back.

“She handled some of the family's administrative work.””

I looked at her.

“You knew?””

“No. I didn't know about the transfers.””

“Then why is her name here?””

Vanessa reached for the folder.

I pulled it away.

“Don't.””

She froze.

“I wasn't trying to take it.””

“Then don't touch anything.””

I photographed every page.

Then I called Mr. Bennett.

He answered immediately.

“Have you found something?””

“Yes. The original documents. And a medical report from Mom's final admission.””

His voice became serious.

“Do not move anything until I arrive.””

“There's something else. Patricia's name is on one of Mom's letters.””

Silence.

Then Mr. Bennett said:

“Emily, you need to understand something about your aunt.””

“What?””

“Your father discovered that Patricia had been receiving payments from the company for years.””

I stared at the name again.

“How much?””

“Approximately two hundred thousand dollars.””

I looked at Vanessa.

She seemed just as shocked as I was.

Then I noticed a small black notebook tucked into the back of the false drawer.

I opened it.

Inside were handwritten dates, amounts, and initials.

The final entry was dated just four days before my father's death.

Beside the payment amount was a note:

*Final transfer approved. E.C. signature required.*

My initials.

Emily Carter.

I had never approved anything.

But at the bottom of the page was a signature.

It looked exactly like mine.

I turned to Vanessa.

“Someone is still using my signature.””

Before she could answer, my phone rang.

Aunt Patricia.

I answered.

“Hello?””

Her voice was strangely calm.

“Emily, sweetheart. I heard you've been visiting the old greenhouse.””

I looked at Vanessa.

“How did you know?””

Aunt Patricia sighed.

“Because your father made one terrible mistake.””

“What mistake?””

“He trusted you with something you were never supposed to find.””

I gripped the phone.

“What do you want?””

“To help you.””

“Then tell me why your name is in Mom's documents.””

There was a pause.

Then Patricia spoke softly.

“Because I was the one who signed the original agreement.””

My stomach dropped.

“What agreement?””

“The agreement that gave Daniel control of the family trust.””

I stared at the filing cabinet.

Patricia continued.

“And Emily, before you start accusing people, you should know something else.””

“What?””

“Your mother knew exactly what I was doing.””

I couldn't speak.

“She agreed to it,” Patricia said.

“And she gave me the documents herself.””

Then the line went dead.

I looked at the letter again.

Something wasn't right.

My mother's handwriting was unmistakable.

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