Chapter 3: Unit 317
I called Grace back seventeen times.
Every call went straight to voicemail.
On the eighteenth, the number had been disconnected.
Marcus found me standing beside the restaurant's rear exit, gripping my phone so tightly my fingers had gone numb. Ethan sat in the back of an unmarked black sedan, wrapped in a wool blanket someone had found in the security office.
“Any luck?”” Marcus asked.
I shook my head.
“Get the location traced.””
“We're trying. The call was routed through an encrypted service.””
“Then find the service.””
“Daniel, whoever we're dealing with has resources. We need to involve the police.””
I looked through the open car door at Ethan.
“Not yet.””
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Your wife is still inside. If she's involved, she may already know we're leaving.””
“She knows.””
“How can you be sure?””
“Because she looked terrified when I played the recording.””
I climbed into the car.
“Take us to Queens.””
The drive passed in a blur of wet streets and red taillights. I kept the photograph of Grace in my hand, turning it over every few minutes as if a different message might appear.
Ethan watched me from the opposite seat.
“Is she really your sister?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you say she was dead?””
The question landed harder than any accusation Vanessa could have made.
“Because I was told she died.””
“By Mrs. Hayes?””
I looked at him.
“Yes.””
He nodded slowly, as though confirming something he already suspected.
“My mom said Mrs. Hayes tells people things that aren't true.””
I closed my eyes for a moment.
“Your mother was right.””
The storage facility stood beneath a highway overpass, surrounded by chain-link fencing and industrial warehouses. Rainwater streamed down the corrugated metal roof. A flickering security light illuminated the entrance.
Marcus parked beside the office.
“Stay in the car,” he told Ethan.
The boy caught my sleeve.
“Don't leave me here.””
I looked at him.
“I won't.””
Marcus checked the corridor before allowing us inside. The facility smelled of dust, damp cardboard, and old motor oil. Somewhere overhead, a metal door banged in the wind.
Unit 317 stood at the end of the third aisle.
The padlock was already open.
Marcus drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.””
He pushed the door upward.
Inside were twelve cardboard boxes, a folding chair, and a battered metal desk. A single fluorescent bulb flickered overhead.
Nothing else.
I stepped inside.
“Where is everything?””
Marcus inspected the corners.
“Someone's been here recently.””
The desk drawers were empty, but the top drawer contained a fresh scrape where something heavy had been dragged out. On the floor lay a torn piece of blue fabric.
Ethan picked it up.
“That looks like the man's coat.””
I turned toward him.
“The man who followed you?””
He nodded.
“He had the same color.””
Marcus crouched to examine the fabric.
“Could be a match. I'll bag it.””
I walked toward the boxes.
Each had a date written on the side. Seven years earlier. Six years earlier. Five years earlier.
I opened the first.
Inside were printed financial statements from Hayes Global.
The second contained copies of emails, bank transfers, and contracts bearing Vanessa's signature.
The third held photographs of Grace.
Dozens of them.
Grace entering a grocery store. Grace sitting in a park. Grace walking along a beach with a man whose face had been deliberately scratched out.
My knees nearly gave way.
Someone had been watching my sister for years.
I pulled another photograph from the box.
It showed Grace standing outside a small house, holding a baby.
Ethan stepped closer.
“That's my mom.””
He pointed at the woman beside Grace.
Lily.
She looked older than I remembered, her face thinner, but there was no mistaking her.
Between them stood a toddler.
Ethan stared at the picture.
“That's me.””
On the back, someone had written a date from eight years earlier.
I checked the date again.
Eight years.
Ethan was eight.
I did the calculation twice, though I already knew the answer.
He had been born before Lily disappeared.
Before my engagement to Vanessa.
Before Grace's accident.
I looked at him, searching his face for something familiar. The dark hair. The narrow chin. The small crease beside his left eye.
I remembered seeing that crease in the mirror every morning.
“Ethan,” I said carefully, “do you know your birthday?””
“October third.””
My chest tightened.
My birthday was October fourth.
Lily had always joked that if I ever had a child, the poor kid would inherit my stubbornness and her terrible sense of humor.
I pressed my palm against the desk.
“Daniel?”” Marcus said quietly.
I couldn't answer.
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Marcus raised his weapon.
“Who's there?””
No answer.
Then a man's voice called out.
“Mr. Hayes? I'm with the facility management team. I received an alarm notification.””
Marcus moved toward the doorway.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
I heard a brief struggle, a heavy impact, and Marcus swearing.
I grabbed Ethan and pulled him behind the desk.
A man in a blue coat appeared in the doorway.
A pale scar ran along his chin.
The same man Ethan had described.
He held a black handgun pointed at the floor.
“Give me the bear,” he said.
I stepped in front of Ethan.
“Who sent you?””
The man smiled without humor.
“You really don't understand how much trouble you're causing.””
“Answer me.””
“Mrs. Hayes was very clear. The boy comes with me.
The recording comes with me. And you forget you ever saw either of them.””
I stared at him.
“You're threatening me in my own city?””
“No, Mr. Hayes. I'm giving you an opportunity.””
He raised the gun.
“Take it.””
Ethan clutched my jacket.
“Please,” he whispered.
“My mom said not to let them take the bear.””
The man shifted his aim toward the boy.
I moved before I thought.
I grabbed the metal desk lamp and hurled it at his wrist.
The gun discharged.
The shot shattered the fluorescent bulb overhead.
Darkness swallowed the unit.
Ethan screamed.
I heard the man curse, then the scrape of shoes against concrete. Marcus tackled him from somewhere in the corridor. They crashed against the metal wall, sending a box tumbling onto the floor.
“Get out!”” Marcus shouted.
I pulled Ethan through the doorway.
A red emergency light illuminated the aisle. Marcus had the man pinned against the wall, but the stranger twisted violently and drove an elbow into Marcus's ribs.
The man broke free.
He ran toward the exit.
I started after him, but Marcus grabbed my arm.
“Don't! He's baiting us.””
The stranger disappeared into the rain.
Marcus bent forward, breathing hard.
“Are you both all right?””
I checked Ethan first.
He nodded, though tears streaked his dirty face.
Then I looked back into Unit 317.
The gunshot had struck one of the boxes. Papers lay scattered across the floor, and the metal desk had tipped onto its side.
One sheet had landed near my shoe.
I picked it up.
It was a printed email from Vanessa to a contact whose name had been blacked out.
The subject line read: The Lily Morgan Problem.
Beneath it was a message dated three days before Grace's accident.
Grace knows about the account. Lily has the original records. If Daniel finds out, we lose everything.
A second line had been highlighted in yellow.
Make sure neither woman can testify.
I felt sick.
Then I noticed another page beneath it.
A police report.
My sister's accident report.
At first glance, it looked identical to the document I had received seven years ago. Same date. Same location. Same official signatures.
But someone had circled a sentence in red ink.
Passenger identified as Vanessa Hayes. Treated at St. Vincent's Hospital and released.
I read it again.
Vanessa had been in the car.
She had survived.
And she'd never told me.
Marcus came to stand beside me.
“Daniel, we need to leave. The police will be here soon.””
I held up the report.
“Did you know my wife was in Grace's car?””
“No.””
“Did anyone at the company know?””
“Not that I can find.””
I folded the report and slipped it into my jacket.
“We're going to St. Vincent's.””
Marcus frowned.
“Why?””
“Because someone treated Vanessa after the accident. Someone signed her discharge papers. Someone might remember what happened that night.””
He nodded reluctantly.
As we hurried toward the exit, Ethan stopped beside the desk.
“Mr. Hayes?””
“What is it?””
He pointed at the teddy bear, which had fallen from my jacket during the struggle.
A tiny red light blinked beneath its torn lining.
I picked it up.
“That wasn't there before.””
Marcus examined it.
“It's a tracker.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
Thank you for opening Unit 317.
A second message followed.
Now we know you have the report.
Then a photograph loaded.
It showed our black sedan parked outside the storage facility.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
Someone had been watching us from across the street.
Another message appeared.
If you go to St. Vincent's, Daniel, you'll learn what happened to Grace.
I stared at the screen.
The next message arrived before I could move.
But you'll also learn why your son was never supposed to be born.
Beside me, Ethan began to cry.
And from the darkness beyond the facility gate, a woman's voice called my name.
“Daniel?””
I turned.
A figure stood beneath the broken security light, holding a bloodstained scarf.
It was Grace.
May you like
Alive.
And she was pointing a gun at the man standing behind me.
