Chapter 6 - THE MAP
At nine the next morning, a detective named Lena Ortiz met us at the hospital.
She was in her early forties, sharp-eyed, calm, and unimpressed by drama.
I liked her immediately.
She placed Richard’s notebook inside an evidence bag after we retrieved it from the safe deposit box under police supervision.
“You said your wife believed these were financial records?”
“Yes.”
Ortiz turned several pages.
“They are.”
“Then what did my father mean by calling it a map?”
“That’s what we’re going to determine.”
She pointed at repeating combinations.
NR-17.
L4.
M.C.
R.P.
A.C.
Then coordinates.
Not latitude and longitude.
Parcel references.
Property numbers.
Ortiz tapped one.
“This belongs to a commercial warehouse.”
“Where?”
“Twenty-seven miles east.”
Another entry.
A storage unit.
Another.
A vacant rental property owned by North Ridge Holdings.
The notebook mapped assets.
Places where documents, money, or evidence could be stored.
One property stood out.
LAKE / 9 / ORIGINALS.
“Lake house?” Emma asked.
I knew exactly which one.
My parents owned a cabin near Lake Vermilion.
Or they claimed they did.
Growing up, we spent summers there.
Richard always called it “the one thing nobody can touch.”
Ortiz photographed the page.
“We’ll seek a warrant.”
My phone buzzed.
Major Moreno.
Marcus Cole had been arrested.
I stepped into the hallway to take the call.
“Where?”
“St. Paul airport.”
“Trying to leave?”
“Mexico City connection.”
“Did he talk?”
“No.”
“Find anything?”
“A passport. Cash. Two phones.”
“Anything linking him to Richard?”
“One phone has messages to a number registered under a prepaid account. We’re obtaining records.”
“Did he photograph us last night?”
“We’re checking location data.”
I looked through the window at Emma and Noah.
“Sarah, ask him about the life-insurance policy.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“He asked for a lawyer.”
That didn’t surprise me.
“What about the beneficiary change?”
“We contacted the insurer.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who was listed?”
She hesitated.
“North Ridge Family Management LLC.”
I stared at the wall.
“My father’s company.”
“Yes.”
“Can someone do that without my signature?”
“Not legally.”
“Was my signature forged?”
“It appears so.”
Two million dollars.
My house.
Noah’s trust.
Bank accounts.
Six point eight million in total exposure, just like Richard’s notebook said.
This had never been about one asset.
My family had calculated the value of my disappearance.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Sarah went quiet.
“Unfortunately.”
I closed my eyes.
“Go ahead.”
“The insurer’s internal notes show the amendment request included a supporting document.”
“What document?”
“A power of attorney.”
“Forged.”
“Almost certainly.”
“Submitted by?”
“Attorney Ronald Price.”
RP.
Another set of initials from the spreadsheet.
I knew the name.
Price had handled several transactions for my parents.
He had attended my wedding.
He had toasted Emma.
He had shaken my hand before deployment and told me he would “keep an eye on the family.”
I nearly laughed.
Instead, I asked, “Where is he?”
“Local investigators went to his office this morning.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
“When did he leave?”
“His assistant says yesterday.”
The day I came home.
Everyone seemed to have known except Emma.
I returned to the room.
Ortiz was on the phone.
When she hung up, her expression told me she had news.
“We have the warrant request moving for the lake property.”
“Good.”
“And we recovered your wife’s phone.”
Emma sat forward.
“Where?”
“Your brother’s car.”
Kyle had told deputies he didn’t know it was there.
Ortiz didn’t believe him.
Neither did I.
“Can you access it?” Emma asked.
“We’ll process it.”
“I know the passcode.”
“That helps.”
Ortiz paused.
“There was also another phone in the vehicle.”
She looked at me.
“A burner.”
My stomach sank.
“Messages?”
“A few.”
“To whom?”
“We’re still identifying numbers.”
She hesitated.
“But one text was received last night.”
“What did it say?”
Ortiz showed me a photograph.
The message had arrived twelve minutes after I played the recording for the deputy.
It contained six words:
GET RID OF THE ORIGINALS TONIGHT.
Sent to Kyle.
Emma looked at me.
“The originals.”
The notebook.
Lake / 9 / ORIGINALS.
Ortiz stood.
“I’m calling the team executing that warrant.”
Before she could dial, her own phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face changed.
“How bad?”
A pause.
“Anyone inside?”
She hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
May you like
Ortiz looked at us.
“The lake house is on fire.”
