Chapter 3: The Empty Safe
The heavy steel door of the wall safe swung open with a dull, oiled click. Inside, neatly stacked folders and legal portfolios sat in the dim light of the study. My hands, still stained with graveyard mud, pulled out the primary trust binder—the one containing the deeds to the family estates, the foundation shares, and Clara’s medical power-of-attorney.
I flipped open the thick leather cover. The plastic sleeves were there, but the corner pockets were empty. The original deeds and the executed power-of-attorney documents bearing my late wife’s signature were gone.
"They're missing," I murmured, the realization dropping like a stone in my stomach.
Clara sat up from the sofa, pulling the blanket tighter. "Maya must have taken them. Before the funeral, she was going through mother’s desk. She said Brenda promised her a stake in the foundation if she signed off on the probate shortcut."
Maya. My youngest daughter, who had drifted into Brenda's orbit over the past year, seduced by the promise of high society and fast money. I had thought her absence at the graveside was just typical teenage rebellion or cold detachment. Now I saw it for what it was: an evacuation.
I grabbed my phone from the desk, my thumb hovering over the screen. "I'm calling the county sheriff."
"No," Clara said, catching my wrist with surprising strength. Her fingers were cold. "If we involve the local police now, Brenda will use her board connections to lock us out. Sterling already has the medical board in his pocket. We need the physical files, Dad. We need whatever Maya took."
Before I could answer, a movement outside the tall leaded glass windows caught my eye. Down on the gravel driveway, a familiar red figure slipped past the rhododendron bushes. Maya was moving quickly toward the side gate, carrying a heavy red leather binder tucked under her arm.
May you like
"Stay here," I said, dropping my phone onto the desk.
I didn't wait for Clara's reply. I pulled the study door open and took the stairs two at a time, bursting through the side terrace doors just as the heavy iron cemetery gates—leading to the public lane—creaked open.
