Chapter 9: Unit 14 on Brennan Road
Alvarez made the call.
He couldn't issue a warrant on a storage unit based on a phone call from an anonymous source — he explained this carefully, without apology — but he could request that the facility manager place a temporary hold on access to Unit 14 pending a civil court order.
Which, he said, given what was already on the laptop, could be requested by my attorney as early as tomorrow morning.
"I need an attorney tonight," I said.
"I can give you the number of the court duty line," he said.
"Civil matters are difficult after hours, but—"
"She doesn't need the duty line," Daniel said.
He was already typing on his phone.
"My attorney does family law.
She has an after-hours line.
She owes me a favor." He looked up.
"Or she did before tonight.
Either way, she'll pick up."
He stepped into the hall to make the call.
Ethan was in the kitchen.
I could hear him and Alvarez's partner having a conversation that had the specific rhythm of a man trying to sound cooperative while saying nothing useful.
"The account has always been in my name.
I set it up for investment purposes.
My wife was aware of the general concept—"
"She was not," I said, walking into the kitchen.
Ethan stopped.
"She was not aware of the general concept," I said.
"She was not aware of any concept.
She found out about the account forty-five minutes ago, in a locked briefcase that she'd never been given the combination to."
"Lauren—"
"Did you just tell this officer that I knew about the account?"
He shifted.
"I said you were aware that I had investments."
"That's not what you said."
The officer was writing in her notepad with admirable focus.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," I said, "in front of this officer.
Did you tell her that I had prior knowledge of the Crestline account?"
The kitchen was very quiet.
Ethan put both hands on the counter.
"I misspoke."
"Write that down," I said to the officer.
"He misspoke."
Daniel appeared in the doorway.
"My attorney is on the line.
Lauren, she wants to talk to you."
I took his phone into the hallway.
Her name was Carol Reyes and she had the voice of someone who had taken a hundred calls exactly like this one and was not rattled by any of them.
I told her about the briefcase, the laptop, the loan application, the storage unit.
She listened without interrupting.
"The forged signature on the home equity application," she said.
"Do you have the original document and a known comparison signature?"
"Officer Alvarez has both."
"Good.
That alone opens a fraud inquiry, which will freeze certain asset movements while the investigation is active.
I'm going to draft an emergency motion tonight for a domestic asset freeze and the storage unit hold.
Can you scan those documents from the briefcase and send them to me?"
"Yes."
"Good.
I also want you to document those text messages — screenshot everything from the unknown number and timestamp them.
Don't delete anything.
And, Lauren — don't let him take anything from that house tonight.
Not a bag, not a box, not a phone."
"There are two officers here."
"Keep them there as long as you legally can.
I'll be at the courthouse when it opens."
I handed Daniel his phone back.
"She's good," he said.
"She'd better be."
I walked back to the kitchen doorway.
Ethan was still at the counter, his arms crossed, his jaw set in the particular way that meant he'd landed on a new strategy and was waiting for the moment to deploy it.
"I want to talk to you alone," he said.
"Five minutes.
That's all I'm asking."
"No."
"Lauren.
We have eleven years—"
"We had eleven years.
You spent four of them building a different life and eight months of them planning to leave me in this house with a forged signature on a loan I didn't know existed." I looked at him steadily.
"I'm going to be generous and say the five minutes wouldn't be good for either of us."
He looked at his hands.
When he looked up, the strategy was gone and something rawer had taken its place.
"I didn't hate you," he said.
"I want you to know that.
I didn't do any of this because I hated you."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"That," I said quietly, "is the saddest thing you've said all night."
His face broke — just for a second.
May you like
Just enough for me to see it.
Then I walked back to the home office, sat down, and began scanning documents on the printer that I'd purchased myself three years ago and had always quietly considered mine.
