Chapter 6 - Unit 114
Tiffany left without telling me where the storage unit was.
She said Harry would explain everything and that she needed to go home.
The word home sounded different now.
The following morning Rebecca received a voicemail from a man identifying himself as a warehouse manager.
He said Harry had asked him to release boxes under my name, but the paperwork lacked the required authorization.
Rebecca asked him to preserve any relevant records and avoid releasing items until ownership could be verified.
I hadn't rented any storage unit.
The manager agreed to meet me with proper identification and counsel present.
His facility sat outside Kalispell near a row of industrial shops.
The unit number was 114.
Harry had rented it in his own name, but several shipping labels on the records listed me as the consignee.
The manager could not simply open somebody else's rented unit for us.
Rebecca explained that fact firmly, even though I was desperate to look inside.
Instead, we examined the legitimate paperwork he could share with my consent.
The packages had been delivered over six months.
They came from office-supply companies, a document-scanning service, and a printing business in Missoula.
One invoice described embossed certification paper.
Another involved a portable scanner and color printer.
The items might have had innocent uses.
But Harry had never run a printing business.
Before we left, the manager mentioned something else.
“There's a woman who came here with him a few times,” he said.
“Tiffany?”
He shook his head.
“Not blonde. Dark hair. Maybe forty.”
He produced no security footage without proper process, but agreed to preserve it.
In the car, I felt a cold certainty forming.
Harry had been living two lives, possibly more.
Rebecca cautioned me against connecting facts ahead of evidence.
I understood.
I'd spent my career assessing loans, and speculation could destroy a sound case just as quickly as dishonesty.
Still, the unanswered question followed me home.
Who was the woman, and why was she helping Harry?
That night Frank and I sat with the television off.
I told him I had once believed Tiffany's marriage was merely troubled by money.
He shook his head.
“Money can expose what's there,” he said. “It doesn't always create it.”
At nine forty-seven, Rebecca called.
Bitterroot Capital's attorney had forwarded a limited set of documents with sensitive details redacted.
One contained a description of collateral.
It referred to my property as the Bennett Family Residence.
Another bore the signature of a purported notary.
The notary's name was Elaine Mercer.
Rebecca had already checked the public commission records.
There was a licensed notary by that name.
But Elaine Mercer had retired two years before the document was dated.
The paper didn't prove who created it.
It did prove somebody had a very serious question to answer.
Before I could process that, my daughter sent another text.
DAD, PLEASE DON'T GO TO THE POLICE YET.
May you like
HE SAYS IF YOU DO, YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN.
