Chapter 5 - THE STORAGE UNIT
Derek’s storage unit looked painfully ordinary.
Boxes.
Old furniture.
A motorcycle helmet.
Christmas decorations.
Then one locked plastic bin.
Inside:
My blue folder.
Certified mail from First Commonwealth.
Printouts about Moretti family trusts.
A prepaid phone.
A blank durable power of attorney.
A draft cohabitation agreement.
A document titled:
BENEFICIARY RELEASE AND ASSIGNMENT.
My name typed at the top.
I had never seen it.
The assignment would transfer “all contingent beneficiary rights arising from the Carlo Moretti estate” to:
DH Asset Recovery LLC.
Owner:
Derek Hale.
Naomi? Leah.
Leah read it twice.
“Would this have worked?”
“Not automatically.”
“Why?”
“Trust restrictions. Independent verification. Anti-assignment provisions may apply.”
“So he couldn’t just take it.”
“No.”
“Then why prepare it?”
“People commit fraud with bad documents every day.”
True.
The prepaid phone connected Derek to Harold Price.
Messages:
DEREK:
How much if confirmed?
PRICE:
Could be millions plus family vote. Need DNA.
DEREK:
Can spouse claim?
PRICE:
Depends trust. Get POA if possible.
DEREK:
She won’t marry me.
PRICE:
Then get authority another way.
No instruction to break my arm.
No conspiracy to assault.
But financial exploitation planning.
Derek had been trying to obtain legal control before he knew I was definitely a beneficiary.
The search history got worse.
“How to become financial agent unmarried partner.”
“Can power of attorney transfer trust rights.”
“Domestic partnership beneficiary rights.”
“Moretti descendant trust.”
Then:
“How long broken arm recovery.”
Search timestamp:
Two hours after he broke it.
I almost vomited.
Not:
Is she okay?
Not:
How serious fracture?
Recovery time.
As if my body were logistics.
Police added attempted financial exploitation and forgery-related charges after finding a scanned version of my signature on one draft.
No final criminal theory yet.
Derek’s lawyer insisted:
The documents were estate-planning research for our future.
Absurd.
Still litigated.
The prepaid phone also contained a voice note from Harold Price.
“The girl is probably Vincent’s sister. If she’s verified before Carlo’s secondary schedule closes, she gets the reserved block.”
Reserved block.
Again.
Governance.
I asked Leah.
“What block?”
“Soon.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
DNA appointment scheduled.
Independent lab.
Me.
Vincent.
Chain of custody.
No tabloid result.
No secret sample.
The test would answer whether we shared a father with enough probability to support sibling relationship, combined with archived Carlo DNA retained from medical testing.
Yes.
Carlo’s hospital had preserved a pathology sample.
Court order required.
Records.
Procedure.
No magic.
While waiting, I returned to work.
Against advice?
No.
My arm remained immobilized.
Carmen put me on host duty.
No trays.
No lifting.
I needed routine.
A customer complained because his table was fifteen minutes late.
I almost laughed.
Normal cruelty.
Small.
Manageable.
Then a man approached the host stand.
Gray hair.
Harold Price.
I recognized him instantly.
My body went cold.
“I just want to talk.”
I stepped back.
“Leave.”
“Derek misunderstood what I told him.”
“Leave.”
“I never told him to hurt you.”
“Leave.”
Carmen had already called security.
Harold raised both hands.
“I need you to know Vincent isn’t telling you everything.”
Of course.
“What?”
“He didn’t just learn about you from Carlo.”
Security approached.
Harold said quickly:
“Vincent’s been paying First Commonwealth to keep your file sealed.”
Then he was escorted out.
I called Leah immediately.
No answer.
Then Vincent.
He picked up.
“Did you pay to keep my identity hidden?”
May you like
Silence.
That was enough to terrify me.
