Chapter 7 - Unit B-17
Erica did not want me touching the storage unit without confirming who rented it.
That was sensible.
I was no longer operating entirely on sensible emotions.
The image of Lorraine’s witness signature on the fake property document kept returning every time I closed my eyes.
Still, I followed instructions.
At 1:40 p.m., Erica called Lakeside Self Storage while I listened on a conference line.
The manager would not disclose customer information.
Erica identified herself as counsel in a property dispute and asked him to preserve access logs and surveillance footage for unit B-17 pending formal process.
The manager became cautious but cooperative.
Then he said something unexpected.
“B-17?”
“Yes,” Erica said.
“That unit was vacated this morning.”
I looked at Thomas.
“What time?” Erica asked.
“About eleven.”
“Who emptied it?”
“I can’t give you customer details.”
“Can you preserve the video?”
“I can flag it.”
“Please do.”
We ended the call.
Thomas checked the time.
Andrew and Lorraine had arrived at the cottage shortly after eleven.
If someone emptied the unit at exactly the same time, there had to be another person involved.
“Daniel Kroft?” Thomas suggested.
“Or Victor.”
I thought of the photograph showing both men at the dinner.
Then my phone rang.
It was a number from Andrew’s company.
I answered.
“Claire?”
A woman spoke quietly.
“This is Patricia Lane.”
The notary.
My entire body went still.
“I think we need to talk.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I think we do.”
“I cannot talk at the office.”
“Then don’t.”
“I get off at four.”
“There’s a Panera near Eastview Mall.”
“Meet me at 4:30.”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up.
Thomas looked at me.
“Patricia?”
I nodded.
“Why would she call now?”
“Because Erica sent preservation notices this morning.”
“Or because Andrew did.”
That possibility made me check the parking lot around us.
No familiar vehicles.
At 2:15, I drove back toward Rochester.
Thomas returned to his own attorney’s office.
We agreed not to share more than necessary because our legal interests were not identical.
That boundary mattered.
His wife had betrayed him.
My husband had betrayed me.
But pain did not automatically make us allies in everything.
At 3:03, Dana called from the clinic.
“Inventory review is clean.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
“All access logs are clean too.”
“Marcus is writing the report.”
“You are cleared to return Monday.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s more.”
My relief vanished.
“IT traced the anonymous email through an encrypted relay, so we do not have a sender.”
“But the attached PDF had metadata.”
I slowed the car.
“What metadata?”
“The author field says AParker.”
I pulled into a parking lot before she finished.
“Andrew?”
“I cannot prove that.”
“But the document was created in Microsoft Word under the account name AParker.”
Dana’s voice softened.
“Claire, I am sorry.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
Andrew had tried to damage my career less than twelve hours after I found the loan packet.
Maybe he believed a medication accusation would make me look unstable in court.
Maybe he hoped fear of losing my job would force me to sign.
Either way, it was no longer something I could explain as panic.
It was retaliation.
“Please preserve the file exactly as received.”
“We will.”
“And Dana?”
“Yes?”
“Do not contact him.”
“I won’t.”
I arrived at Panera early.
Patricia Lane came in at 4:37 wearing office slacks and a gray cardigan.
She looked older than I remembered.
Or maybe she simply looked frightened.
She sat across from me without ordering anything.
“I should have called you months ago,” she said.
My pulse picked up.
“Months?”
Patricia nodded.
“I did not notarize your signature.”
I stared at her.
“That is your stamp.”
“Yes.”
“My signature too.”
“But I did not see you sign.”
“Then why did you certify that you did?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Andrew told me you had already signed and that you were on shift.”
“He said you needed the paperwork filed quickly for a refinancing issue.”
“I told him I could not notarize without you present.”
“What changed?”
“He brought Lorraine.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“She said she watched you sign at breakfast and that you had authorized her to bring the papers over.”
“That still does not permit a notary to certify my appearance.”
“I know.”
Patricia looked down.
“I know.”
“Why did you do it?”
She rubbed her thumb over the edge of a napkin.
“Andrew had helped my son get a job.”
“My son had been arrested for a DUI the year before.”
“He was struggling.”
“Andrew told me the document was only an internal marital acknowledgment and would not transfer title.”
“He said it was for a lender’s file.”
“You recorded it.”
“I did not.”
Her head snapped up.
“I never recorded anything.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Andrew asked me to stamp two originals.”
“I gave them back to him.”
I stared at her.
“Two originals?”
“Yes.”
“Did you keep a notary journal?”
Her face crumpled slightly.
“I entered it as an acknowledgment by Andrew only.”
“I did not list you because you were not there.”
That mattered.
A great deal.
“Do you still have the journal?”
“Yes.”
“Will you preserve it?”
“Yes.”
“Will you speak to my attorney?”
Patricia hesitated.
“If I do, I could lose my commission.”
“You certified something that was used to claim half my house.”
“I know.”
“You may already have a problem.”
She looked away.
“I am not threatening you.”
“I am telling you that hiding it now will not undo what happened.”
Patricia’s eyes returned to mine.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Andrew came to my desk yesterday morning.”
“Before your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“He asked whether I still had the old journal.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I should ‘clean up old mistakes before someone misunderstood them.’”
I felt a chill.
“Did he ask you to alter the journal?”
“Not directly.”
“But that is what you thought he meant?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
She reached into her purse and removed a folded photocopy.
“I made this before I left work today.”
It was the relevant journal page.
Andrew Parker.
Document type: marital memorandum.
Signer present: Andrew only.
Additional party listed on document: Claire Morgan, not present.
My heart hammered.
Patricia had written the truth into her own journal on the day of the false notarization.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because I heard him talking to Daniel Kroft this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Move B-17 before Claire gets there.’”
I sat back.
The storage unit.
Patricia continued.
“Daniel said it was already handled.”
“What was in the unit?”
“I don’t know.”
“But I heard another name.”
“Whose?”
“Lorraine’s.”
Patricia swallowed.
“Andrew said his mother had the backup box at her Syracuse place.”
For two years, Lorraine had claimed she could not return to Syracuse because living alone was impossible.
She had also told us she had rented out her old townhouse to cover expenses.
I had never seen a lease.
I had never seen a tenant.
I had simply believed her.
“Her Syracuse place?” I asked.
Patricia looked confused.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t she still own a condo there?”
My chest tightened.
“What condo?”
Patricia named an address.
It was not Lorraine’s old townhouse.
It was a newer development near Onondaga Lake.
I pulled out my phone and searched the county property records.
There it was.
Lorraine Parker had purchased the condo nineteen months earlier.
Cash.
The closing date was two weeks before the roof renovation on my house.
I stared at the screen.
My mother-in-law had spent two years living in my guest suite for free while secretly owning a fully paid condo in Syracuse.
And according to Andrew, she had a backup box there.
Patricia’s phone buzzed on the table.
She looked at the screen and went pale.
“What?” I asked.
She turned the phone toward me.
A text from Andrew.
We need to make sure everyone remembers the roof signing the same way.
Under it, another message arrived.
Claire is trying to destroy all of us.
Patricia whispered, “He knows I left work.”
I looked through the restaurant window.
Across the parking lot, a black SUV was parked beneath a tree.
May you like
Lorraine sat behind the wheel.
She was watching us.
