Chapter 6: Unit 14
The storage facility was a flat gray building on the edge of an industrial road, the kind of place designed to be forgettable.
I pulled in at ten-fifteen, well after Kevin's gym session would have ended, but Amber had texted me that morning to confirm he'd gone to work directly from the gym.
She was watching his calendar and his location with the quiet precision of someone who had decided to stop being afraid.
Unit 14 was near the back.
The lock was a heavy combination padlock, but the key my father had given me was for the secondary deadbolt on the roll door.
I crouched and worked it open.
The door rolled up with a sound like a long exhale.
It was not full of his grandmother's furniture.
There were two filing cabinets against the left wall, both locked.
A folding table with a laptop bag on top of it.
Plastic storage bins stacked four high along the back.
And on the right wall, hung on a pegboard with the kind of careful organization Kevin had never once applied to his own life, were printed spreadsheets.
Dozens of them.
Pinned in rows.
I stepped in and let my eyes adjust.
The spreadsheets were tracking something.
Columns of dates, amounts, account numbers, and names.
I recognized my parents' account number immediately.
I recognized the amounts — they matched the transfers I'd already documented.
But there were other names in the columns too.
Other account numbers I didn't recognize.
I took out my phone and started photographing everything.
Every spreadsheet on the wall.
Every visible document on the table.
I didn't touch the filing cabinets yet.
Then I found my father's folder, exactly where he'd said it would be — tucked behind the left filing cabinet, inside a plain brown envelope with no label.
I opened it.
He had been more thorough than I expected.
Bank statements.
Printed email exchanges between him and Kevin going back three years.
A handwritten note in my father's handwriting that said, simply: *Kevin told me Dani approved this.
I am no longer certain that is true.* Dated eight months ago.
I photographed every page.
Then I called Rachel.
"I'm in the unit," I said.
"It's not just family money."
"What do you mean?"
"There are spreadsheets tracking multiple accounts.
Multiple names.
This isn't just him skimming from me and running it through my parents.
This looks like he's been doing it to other people too."
A pause.
"How many names?"
I counted the columns on the nearest spreadsheet.
"At least six that I can see.
Possibly more in the cabinets."
"Dani." Rachel's voice shifted into something more formal.
"You need to stop touching things and call the police."
"I'm the account holder's authorized representative.
I have legal access."
"I understand that.
But if this is what it looks like, this is beyond a family dispute.
This is potentially a pattern of fraud.
You document what you can see without disturbing anything, you leave, and you call the non-emergency line for the financial crimes unit.
Today."
I looked at the spreadsheets on the wall.
"He was planning to get married in six weeks," I said.
"Amber would have been walking into this."
"I know.
That's exactly why you need to move fast." A pause.
"How is she?"
"Steady.
Steadier than I expected."
"Call the detective line.
I'll send you the right contact.
And Dani — don't tell Kevin you've been in there.
Not yet.
Let them execute a proper search."
I photographed the last visible documents, stepped back, and rolled the door down.
I re-locked the deadbolt and stood in the gray light of the facility parking lot.
Six names on that spreadsheet.
Six people who had probably never met each other.
Who had probably each been told a different story.
Who had probably each believed, at some point, that they were helping someone they trusted.
My phone buzzed.
Kevin: *Haven't heard from you.
Are we doing this call tonight or not?*
I typed back: *Tonight works.
Seven o'clock.*
May you like
I needed him to think nothing had changed for exactly forty-eight more hours.
I got in the truck and called the number Rachel sent me.
