Chapter 8: The Warehouse by the River
Thomas called the police before we left St. Catherine's.
He wanted Evelyn's statement formally recorded, and he insisted that we not visit the warehouse without someone knowing where we were going.
I agreed to the first part.
The second was harder.
If Marcus had disappeared after meeting Derrick six months earlier, every hour mattered.
By the time we reached the river district, night had settled over the city. Warehouses stood in long, dark rows behind chain-link fences. The air smelled of damp concrete, diesel, and the river's muddy banks.
Thomas parked beside a shuttered loading dock.
“This is the place Evelyn described,” he said.
I looked through the windshield.
A faded sign hung above the entrance. Most of the letters had peeled away, but I could still make out the name of the transportation company my grandfather had owned.
The same company that had destroyed my father's reputation.
“Why would Marcus come back here?”” I asked.
“Because this is where the original accounting records were stored before the company went bankrupt.””
Thomas opened his briefcase.
“Evelyn said Derrick claimed to have evidence. Marcus may have believed the meeting was his chance to clear his name.””
“And instead, he disappeared.””
Thomas didn't answer.
We got out of the car.
The warehouse gate was secured with a chain, but the padlock hung open. Someone had cut through it recently.
Inside, the building was cold and nearly silent. Our footsteps echoed across the concrete floor. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, illuminating stacks of wooden pallets and abandoned machinery.
I held my phone flashlight in front of me.
“Marcus?”” I called.
My voice disappeared into the darkness.
Thomas moved toward an office at the back of the warehouse.
“Stay close.””
The office door was ajar.
Inside, a desk sat beneath a broken fluorescent light. Dust covered the filing cabinets, but a chair had been pulled away from the desk recently.
Someone had been here.
I opened the top drawer.
It was empty except for a paper clip and a faded photograph of a younger Marcus standing beside my mother.
On the back, he had written:
For Elena. When this is over, we're going to start again.
My throat tightened.
Thomas searched the cabinets while I examined the desk.
There was a faint rectangular outline in the dust, as if a folder had recently been removed.
I crouched and looked beneath the desk.
A small metal box was bolted to the underside.
The lock had been forced.
Inside was a folded note.
I opened it.
If you are reading this, the meeting went wrong.
My pulse quickened.
The handwriting was Marcus's.
Derrick promised me the original records. He said Vanessa was ready to confess. I believed him because I wanted to believe that my daughter could finally have her father back.
I stopped reading.
The next lines were written more hastily.
He brought someone with him. I recognized the voice before I saw the face.
It was the person who told Evelyn to declare Elena dead.
My hands began to shake.
Thomas came to stand beside me.
“What is it?””
I handed him the note.
He read it, then looked toward the warehouse entrance.
“We need to leave.””
“Not yet.””
“Aaliyah, if someone brought Marcus here and he disappeared, they may still be watching this place.””
I pointed to the final line.
The proof is where the river meets the old road.
Thomas stared at it.
“There's a service road along the eastern bank,” he said.
“It runs behind the warehouse.””
We hurried outside.
The service road was overgrown with weeds, and broken pieces of concrete lay scattered along the riverbank. A rusted metal railing separated the path from the water.
I searched the ground with my flashlight.
Then I saw something caught beneath the railing.
A small black notebook.
I pulled it free.
The cover was soaked, but the pages inside had been protected by a plastic sleeve.
The first page contained a list of dates and account numbers.
The next contained names.
Vanessa Brooks.
Derrick Brooks.
And a third name I recognized from the hospital records.
Dr. Samuel Price.
I turned the page.
There were copies of bank transfers, handwritten notes, and a photograph of a document bearing my father's forged signature.
Then I found a page dated six months earlier.
Derrick says Vanessa is ready to tell the truth. I don't trust him, but I have to try.
Below that was another line.
If anything happens to me, Aaliyah must know that I came back.
I clutched the notebook to my chest.
My father had been here.
He had returned to the place where his life had been destroyed, believing that the man who helped ruin him might finally give him the truth.
“Marcus,” I whispered.
A sound came from behind us.
The crunch of gravel.
Thomas spun around.
A man stood at the end of the service road, his face hidden beneath the hood of a dark jacket.
“Put the notebook down,” he said.
Thomas stepped in front of me.
“Who are you?””
“Put it down. Now.””
I tightened my grip.
“No.””
The man moved closer.
“You don't know what you're holding.””
“I know it belongs to my father.””
His shoulders stiffened.
Then he reached into his jacket.
Thomas grabbed my arm.
“Run!””
We sprinted toward the warehouse.
A sharp crack split the night.
I stumbled as a bullet struck the concrete beside my foot.
Thomas pulled me behind a loading dock.
“Are you hit?””
“No.””
He looked toward the road.
The man was gone.
My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the notebook.
Thomas took out his phone and called the police again.
This time, I didn't argue about waiting for help.
We stayed behind the loading dock until the first patrol car arrived.
An officer examined the concrete where the bullet had struck, then escorted us to the station to give statements.
The notebook was placed in evidence.
I thought that would be the end of the night.
I was wrong.
At 11:47 p.m., while I sat in a small interview room, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You have your father's notebook.
A second message followed.
Then you know he was alive six months ago.
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
If you want to see him again, come to the old ferry terminal tomorrow at noon.
My breath caught.
I showed Thomas.
He read the messages twice.
“Don't respond,” he said.
“But what if it's him?””
“Then he can prove it without asking you to walk into an unknown situation.””
I wanted to believe it was Marcus.
I wanted to believe that somewhere, my father was waiting for the chance to come home.
But I had spent too many years learning how easily hope could be used against me.
Thomas contacted the detective handling the case. The messages were documented, and we agreed that any meeting would happen with police assistance.
Before we left the station, an officer brought us a sealed envelope.
It had been found inside the notebook's plastic sleeve.
My name was written on the front.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter from Marcus, dated six months earlier.
My dearest Aaliyah,
If you are reading this, then the truth has finally begun to move.
I have spent twenty years trying to find a way back to you. I have been afraid that coming home would put you in danger, but I am more afraid that you will live your entire life believing I chose to leave.
I did not.
I was at the hospital when you were born. I held you in my arms. I promised your mother that I would always protect you.
I failed to keep that promise in the way I wanted, but I never stopped trying.
I am close to finding the person who arranged the lies about us. I believe I know who changed the hospital records, who forged my signature, and who made sure your mother could never tell you what happened.
I am going to meet Derrick.
I don't trust him. But he has something I need.
If he keeps his promise, I may finally be able to come home.
The letter ended there.
No signature.
No explanation of what happened at the warehouse.
Only one final line, written beneath the fold.
If I don't return, ask Derrick what he did with the key.
I looked up.
Thomas had gone very still.
“What key?”” I asked.
He stared at the letter.
“I don't know.””
“Why would Marcus ask me to ask Derrick about a key?””
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“Because your father may have hidden something important somewhere else.””
I took out the photograph from the hospital records.
The nurse's uniform.
Derrick beside the sedan.
The date.
Then I remembered Jasmine's silver key and the storage unit.
I pulled it from my pocket and examined it again.
It was small, old, and unmarked.
Thomas looked at it.
“Where did you get that?””
“Jasmine found it in the box Vanessa took from the blue wall.””
He turned it over in his hand.
“This may not be a storage key.””
“What else could it be?””
He studied the narrow teeth.
“A safety deposit box key.””
I took out the paper tag Evelyn had given me.
Number 417.
Thomas placed the two keys side by side.
“That's a different key,” he said.
“But perhaps they belong to two different boxes.””
My phone rang.
Jasmine.
I answered immediately.
“Are you safe?””
“I'm at Grandma's,” she whispered.
“Mom thinks I'm asleep.””
“Jasmine, I need you to tell me everything you know about the key.””
She hesitated.
“There's something I didn't tell you. When I found it, Mom was talking to Dad about a bank account. She said the original records were locked away, and that only one person had the second key.””
“Who?””
Jasmine swallowed.
“Marcus.””
My heart began to pound.
“Are you sure?””
“I heard her say his name.””
I looked at Thomas.
He was already reaching for his phone.
Jasmine continued.
“There's another thing. Mom said that if Marcus ever came back, she'd make sure he never got the chance to speak.””
I felt the cold settle in my stomach.
“Jasmine, listen to me. Don't confront her. Don't tell her where you are. If she asks about me, say nothing.””
“Okay.””
“And if Dad contacts you, don't meet him alone.””
A pause.
Then Jasmine whispered, “Aaliyah, I think Dad already knows where Marcus is.””
I closed my eyes.
“What makes you say that?””
“Because I found a message on his computer. It was sent six months ago.””
“What did it say?””
Her voice broke.
“'The meeting is over. The problem has been taken care of.''”
I stared at the wall.
Six months ago.
The warehouse.
The missing father.
The gunshot.
The anonymous messages.
Thomas took the phone from my hand and asked Jasmine to preserve the message if she could do so safely.
Then he ended the call.
“We need to find Derrick,” I said.
Thomas nodded.
“But we do it carefully.””
I looked down at Marcus's letter.
My father had come back.
He had tried to clear his name.
He had tried to reach me.
And then he'd vanished again.
I slipped the medal beneath my collar and stood.
“Tomorrow, we're going to the ferry terminal.””
Thomas looked at me for a long moment.
“Are you sure?””
“No,” I said honestly.
“But if there's even a chance he's alive, I'm not going to spend another day waiting for someone else to tell me what happened.””
As we walked toward the station exit, my phone vibrated one final time.
The unknown number had sent a photograph.
It showed a narrow room with a barred window, a metal bed, and a man sitting with his back to the camera.
His hair was dark with gray at the temples.
His shoulders were bent, but I recognized the shape of his hands.
The same hands that had held a newborn baby twenty-two years earlier.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
Tomorrow, you'll learn why your father never came home.
May you like
Then another line appeared.
But first, you must decide whether you can forgive the person who kept him alive.
