I forwarded the photograph to Ramirez.
He called immediately.
“Where did you get this?”
“Email.”
“From whom?”
“Unknown address.”
“Did you open anything else?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He asked me to send the original message without altering it.
I did.
Then he told me to wait.
I didn't.
I couldn't.
The photograph showed a room I had never seen, but the blue box was unmistakable.
Mom had told us she destroyed it.
She had lied.
The box contained old records connected to Dad's former company.
And apparently someone wanted me to find it.
The question was why.
At 7:20, Ramirez called again.
“We traced the image.”
“To where?”
“A storage facility outside Tacoma.”
“Whose?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Then let's go.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“You just said—”
“I said we traced the image. I didn't say you should go there.”
“Ramirez.”
“Mr. Carter, this is now an active investigation. You are a witness.”
“I know.”
“Then act like one.”
I hated hearing that.
But he was right.
I stayed home.
At 9:00, detectives went to the storage facility.
Dad came over.
He looked exhausted.
“Anything?”
“Not yet.”
He sat across from me.
“Your mother called.”
“What did she say?”
“She wants to talk to you.”
“Did she explain?”
“No.”
I looked at my phone.
“I'm not ready.”
Dad nodded.
“I don't blame you.”
He sat quietly.
Then he said, “I lied to you too.”
I looked at him.
“About what?”
“The old company.”
I waited.
“I didn't just work with Arthur.”
“What did you do?”
“I helped create some of the original reporting systems.”
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn't mean I was involved in the fraud.”
“I know.”
“But you need to understand why your name appears in those records.”
He explained that his employee number had been used as a reference on shipment documents.
He had created legitimate tracking procedures.
Arthur later manipulated them.
Dad had objected.
When he tried to report the problem, he was pushed out.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to have a normal life.”
I looked at him.
“You can't protect someone from the past by hiding it.”
“I know that now.”
My phone rang.
Detective Lee.
“We found the storage unit.”
My heart tightened.
“What was inside?”
“The blue box.”
Dad stood.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Boxes of documents.”
“Financial?”
“Mostly.”
“Whose?”
“Your father's former company.”
Dad closed his eyes.
Lee continued.
“We also found photographs.”
“Of what?”
“Shipments.”
“Anything connecting Megan?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“Several photographs show her at the warehouse months before her company was registered.”
I looked at Dad.
That meant Megan had been involved much earlier than she admitted.
“How old are the photographs?”
“Approximately eighteen months.”
I felt sick.
“She told us she worked there briefly.”
“She did.”
“But she was there afterward.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We're trying to determine that.”
Then Lee said:
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“We found a notebook.”
“What kind?”
“Handwritten financial records.”
“Whose handwriting?”
“Megan's.”
I closed my eyes.
“What's in it?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Several people.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Michael?”
Lee paused.
“Yes.”
I stared at Dad.
“How much?”
“Thirty-two thousand over approximately ten months.”
The business buy-in.
The same number.
Except it hadn't been planned recently.
It had been accumulating for months.
Maybe years.
I asked, “What did Michael provide?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Then find out.”
“We are.”
The call ended.
Dad sat back down.
“Thirty-two thousand.”
“Yes.”
“That was the amount in the spreadsheet.”
“Exactly.”
He looked toward the window.
“She wasn't starting a business.”
“No.”
“She was paying someone.”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
That was the question.
The storage facility evidence might finally answer it.
At noon, Ramirez called.
“We found something in the notebook.”
“What?”
A page had been marked with a date.
The date was the day Megan first accessed my apartment after my divorce.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
“Get Liam's files.”
I felt cold.
“She had a plan before the credit application.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Another note appeared on the next page.
“Need divorce disclosures, lease, tax records.”
Dad whispered, “She was collecting your documents.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
Ramirez said, “The notebook doesn't say.”
Then he asked me something strange.
“Did Megan ever know your father's old employer?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know Arthur Bell before working at the warehouse?”
“I don't know.”
“We found an old photograph of them together.”
My heart sank.
“How old?”
“Five years.”
I sat down.
“That can't be right.”
“We're verifying it.”
“Was Michael there?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Your mother.”
Dad stared at me.
“What?”
I repeated it.
“The photograph shows Megan, Arthur, and Mom.”
Dad's face changed.
“That picture doesn't exist.”
Ramirez sent it.
I opened it.
There they were.
Megan.
Arthur Bell.
Mom.
Standing outside a restaurant.
The date was five years earlier.
Before Megan ever claimed to know Arthur through the warehouse.
Dad looked over my shoulder.
His expression collapsed.
“Where was that?”
“Seattle.”
He stared.
“I remember that restaurant.”
“What?”
“Your mother told me she was meeting a friend.”
Mom had lied to him years before.
The photograph proved it.
I felt something inside me sink.
Maybe the scheme had started long before the apartment.
Long before the credit application.
Long before Megan's business.
I called Mom.
She didn't answer.
I left no message.
Then I called Rachel.
She answered.
“I've been thinking about the laptop.”
“What about it?”
“Mom had access to it.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember whether she ever asked you for the password?”
Rachel paused.
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“She once asked me whether it was protected.”
“Did you tell her?”
“I said yes.”
“Did she ask whether the files were encrypted?”
Rachel hesitated.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I ended the call.
Then I looked at Dad.
“There's something we haven't considered.”
“What?”
“Maybe Mom wasn't helping Megan.”
He frowned.
“Then what?”
“Maybe Mom and Megan were working together from the beginning.”
Dad stared at me.
He wanted to reject it.
I could see that.
But the evidence was becoming difficult to ignore.
The copied lease.
The credit verification.
The laptop.
The divorce files.
The photograph.
The money.
The storage box.
His wife was no longer just an anxious mother protecting a reckless daughter.
She might have been part of the plan.
At 3:18, Detective Lee called.
“We found the person who rented the storage unit.”
“Who?”
She paused.
“Diane Carter.”
Dad closed his eyes.
I said nothing.
Lee continued.
“The rental agreement was signed electronically.”
“Whose email?”
“Your mother's.”
I looked at Dad.
He whispered, “No.”
Then Lee added:
“There is a second renter listed.”
“Who?”
“Megan Carter.”
I felt the room go cold.
The storage unit had been rented by both of them.
Together.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Mom’s Name on the Storage Agreement Changed Everything, and the Evidence Finally Showed How Long the Two of Them Had Been Hiding Their Arrangement
One Casual Text Turned Into a Family Demand I Had Never Agreed To, and I Realized Too Late That My Apartment Was Only the Beginning
Part 14 of 20
