Chapter 2: The Bedroom Behind the Locked Door
I carried Sophia into the kitchen and turned on every light.
She stayed close to me, holding the back of my suit jacket with one hand.
“Are you hungry?”” I asked.
She nodded.
“When did you last eat?””
“This morning.””
“What did you have?””
“Half a sandwich.””
I opened the refrigerator.
Inside were several bottles of water, a carton of milk, some vegetables, and a plastic container of leftover pasta.
I checked the pantry.
There were crackers, cereal, and canned soup.
Enough food for several days.
But something bothered me.
Most of it was untouched.
I turned around.
“Sophia, did Patricia tell you not to eat anything?””
She shook her head.
“She said I could have food if I finished my chores.””
My hand tightened around the refrigerator handle.
“What chores?””
“Cleaning the kitchen. Folding the towels. Washing the clothes.””
“Anything else?””
She hesitated.
“Sometimes I have to clean Grandma's room.””
I took a breath.
“Sweetheart, you never have to earn the right to eat in this house.””
Sophia stared at me.
I made her a grilled cheese sandwich and warmed a bowl of soup. While she ate, I sat across from her and tried to keep my questions gentle.
I didn't want to frighten her.
But I needed to understand what had been happening while I was away.
I'd been working in Chicago for eleven days, overseeing the opening of a new construction project. Patricia had insisted that everything at home was fine.
She had even sent me photographs of Sophia smiling in the garden.
I'd believed her.
That realization was beginning to hurt.
“Daddy?””
I looked up.
“Hmm?””
“Are you going away again?””
The question stopped me.
“No, sweetheart. Not tonight.””
“Promise?””
I reached across the table.
“I promise.””
She placed her small hand in mine.
Then she looked toward the ceiling.
“Can we go upstairs now?””
“Why?””
“Because I need to show you something.””
I stood.
“Okay. Lead the way.””
Sophia walked ahead of me, past the living room and up the staircase.
At the top, she stopped outside Patricia's bedroom.
The door was closed.
I knew that room well.
Patricia had moved into it shortly after we married. She liked expensive furniture, designer perfume, and keeping everything perfectly organized.
The door had a digital lock.
I tried the handle.
Locked.
“Do you know the code?”” I asked.
Sophia nodded.
“It's your birthday.””
I entered the numbers.
The lock clicked.
The bedroom smelled of Patricia's expensive perfume. A large cream-colored bed stood beneath a crystal chandelier. Designer handbags were displayed on a glass shelf, and a row of shoes lined the wall.
Everything looked untouched.
Almost staged.
Sophia walked toward the walk-in closet.
“It's in there.””
I followed her.
“What exactly are we looking for?””
She pointed toward the bottom of a tall cabinet.
“Behind those boxes.””
I moved two shoe boxes and found a small wooden panel.
It was slightly loose.
I pulled it forward.
Behind it sat a black metal case.
I looked at Sophia.
“Have you opened this?””
She shook her head.
“I heard Patricia talking on the phone. She said it was the only place nobody would look.””
I examined the case.
There was a combination lock.
“Did you hear anything else?””
Sophia nodded.
“She said Daddy would never know.””
My stomach tightened.
I tried Patricia's birthday.
Wrong.
Our wedding anniversary.
Wrong.
Sophia's birthday.
The lock opened.
Inside were several documents, a flash drive, a thick envelope, and a small velvet pouch.
I picked up the envelope first.
My name was written across it.
*DANIEL CARTER.*
I opened it.
The first page was a bank statement.
My eyes moved across the figures.
There were multiple transfers from our joint account to an unfamiliar business account.
$8,000.
$12,500.
$15,000.
The transactions stretched across several months.
I turned the page.
Another statement.
Then another.
I calculated the total.
Nearly $180,000.
I sat down on the edge of the closet bench.
“What the hell?””
Sophia looked frightened.
“Daddy?””
I forced myself to look calm.
“It's okay, baby.””
I continued examining the documents.
The business account belonged to a company called Westbridge Family Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
But the registered address was familiar.
It was the address of Patricia's mother's house.
I picked up the next document.
It was a printed email.
The subject line read:
*RE: CARTER FAMILY PROPERTY TRANSFER.*
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
My throat went dry.
The email discussed transferring ownership of my investment property into a trust.
A trust that would be controlled by Patricia.
I flipped through the pages.
There were draft agreements, copies of my identification, and what appeared to be a signature authorization form.
My signature was at the bottom.
Except I hadn't signed it.
I knew that immediately.
The letter D in Daniel was too rounded. The final stroke of my surname was too short.
Someone had copied my signature.
“Daddy, is that bad?””
I looked at Sophia.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“It might be.””
She stepped closer.
“Are you going to be mad?””
I put the papers down.
“No, sweetheart.””
“But I found it.””
“You helped me find something important.””
She looked relieved.
I opened the velvet pouch.
Inside was a small silver key.
Attached to it was a paper tag with three handwritten words:
*UNIT 14 — STORAGE.*
I turned it over.
There was another message.
*KEEP THE ORIGINALS SAFE.*
I looked at the flash drive.
My mind was racing.
Who was the other party?
Why had Patricia been transferring money?
And why was my signature on documents I had never seen?
I took photographs of every page and placed the originals back inside the case.
Then I put the flash drive into my jacket pocket.
“Daddy?””
I turned.
Sophia was standing near the closet door.
“There's something else.””
“What is it?””
She pointed toward Patricia's bedside table.
I walked over.
The drawer was slightly open.
Inside was a photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed Patricia standing beside a man I recognized.
His name was Marcus Bell.
He had worked as my financial adviser for nearly five years.
I stared at the photograph.
Patricia and Marcus were standing outside a hotel, holding hands.
On the back was a date.
Six months earlier.
Underneath, someone had written:
*Almost there. Just a little longer.*
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath me.
“Daddy?””
Sophia's voice brought me back.
“Do you know that man?””
“Yes.””
“Is he your friend?””
I looked at the photograph again.
“I thought he was.””
I took the picture and slipped it into the envelope.
Then I heard a sound from downstairs.
A car door.
I checked the time.
It was barely three in the afternoon.
Sophia grabbed my hand.
“Daddy, that's her.””
I walked to the bedroom window.
A black SUV had stopped in the driveway.
Patricia stepped out.
She was wearing oversized sunglasses and carrying a designer handbag.
Her mother, Evelyn, was in the passenger seat.
Melissa climbed out of the back.
They weren't supposed to return until Monday.
I watched Patricia pull out her phone.
Then my own phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*DANIEL, DON'T LET SOPHIA TALK. SHE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE SAW.*
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
*AND PUT EVERYTHING BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT.*
My blood ran cold.
I hadn't told anyone about the bedroom.
I hadn't even called Patricia.
I slowly turned toward Sophia.
She was staring at my phone.
Then she whispered something I would never forget.
“Daddy, that's the number Patricia uses when she pretends to be someone else.””
Before I could respond, the front door opened.
And Patricia called from downstairs.
“Daniel, darling? Are you home?””
Her voice was cheerful.
Almost loving.
I looked at the black metal case in my hands.
Then I looked at my daughter.
For the first time, I understood that Patricia wasn't simply hiding something from me.
May you like
She was hiding something from everyone.
And she had just discovered that her secret was no longer safe.
