Chapter 5 - THE CALL THAT ENDED TOO SOON
The dead line stayed against my ear for three seconds before I lowered the phone.
Special Agent Keene was already moving.
"Where was she?"
"I don't know."
"Call back."
I did.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Keene dialed a number of her own and asked for an emergency location request based on an active witness concern.
I hated how quickly my military brain took over.
Strip emotion.
Build facts.
Last known location.
Vehicle.
Phone signal.
Known threats.
Available support.
It was easier to do that with strangers.
It was harder when the person crying on the phone was the sister who had lied under oath about you that morning.
The vault manager locked Box 417 while the evidence technician preserved the material already removed.
Keene and I left separately.
She did not want me riding with federal agents in case someone was watching the building.
That sentence told me the investigation had moved far beyond a family dispute.
Lauren's attorney answered on the fourth call.
"She's not with me."
"When did you last see her?"
"Twenty-five minutes ago."
"Where?"
"Courthouse parking garage."
My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"Was Dad there?"
"No."
"Foss?"
"I saw Mr. Foss near the elevators."
"Did he speak to her?"
A pause.
"I don't know."
Traffic lights became obstacles.
Every red signal felt personal.
I reminded myself that panic was not speed.
Keene called as I crossed Fourth Street.
"Her phone pinged near the old rail district twelve minutes ago."
"That's six miles from the courthouse."
"Yes."
"Any reason she'd go there?"
"Her husband has a warehouse unit on Brookline Avenue."
I knew the place.
Lauren's husband, Nathan, collected vintage motorcycles and stored them there during winter.
Dad hated Nathan's hobby because it had no return on investment.
That alone made me like it.
"I'm five minutes away."
"You're not entering before we get there."
"Understood."
"Evelyn."
I knew that tone.
"I said understood."
The warehouse complex sat behind a chain-link fence beside an abandoned freight spur.
Lauren's silver SUV was parked crookedly outside Unit 18.
The driver's door was open.
My heart started pounding.
I stopped thirty yards away and stayed inside my vehicle.
Every instinct wanted me moving.
Training kept me still.
Keene arrived less than two minutes later with two local officers.
They cleared the unit.
Lauren was inside.
Alive.
Alone.
Sitting on the concrete floor between two covered motorcycles.
Her phone lay smashed beside her.
When she saw me, she began crying again.
I stopped several feet away.
"Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"Who broke the phone?"
"I did."
Keene looked at the pieces.
"Why?"
Lauren hugged her knees.
"Because it wouldn't stop ringing."
"Your father?"
She nodded.
"And Gerald."
Keene crouched at a careful distance.
"Ms. White, you told your sister the medical report was Mr. Foss's idea."
Lauren looked at me instead of Keene.
"I didn't mean he typed it."
"Then tell us exactly what you meant."
She wiped her face with her sleeve.
"Dad was furious after he found out Gran changed the will."
Her voice shook.
"He kept saying there had to be a way to prove she wasn't competent."
"What did Foss say?"
"At first, he said we needed medical records."
Lauren swallowed.
"Dad said there weren't any useful ones."
"Then what?"
"Gerald said old records can sometimes be reconstructed from office files, billing notes, templates, referrals."
Keene's expression did not change.
"Those words alone are not an instruction to forge a report."
"I know."
Lauren looked ashamed.
"But then Dad said the clinic was closed and the doctor was dead."
My skin prickled.
"Was Foss still in the room?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Lauren stared at the floor.
"He said, 'Then nobody can contradict the chart.'"
Keene stopped writing.
"Exact words?"
"As close as I remember."
"When was this?"
"Eight months ago."
The photograph from Box 417 flashed through my mind.
Dad and Lauren outside the abandoned clinic.
"Why were you at Piedmont Neurological Associates?"
Lauren began twisting her wedding ring.
"Dad told me we were looking for Gran's old medical file."
"The office was closed."
"I know."
"How did you get inside?"
She did not answer.
I crouched so we were eye level.
"Lauren."
Her face crumpled.
"Gerald had a key."
Keene and I exchanged a look.
"Why would Foss have a key to a closed neurology practice?" I asked.
"His firm represented the landlord."
That was plausible.
It was also terrible.
"What did you take?"
"Nothing."
"Gran wrote that you took letterhead."
Lauren's head snapped up.
"What?"
"She saw you."
"She couldn't have."
"She had a photograph."
Lauren stared at me.
Then the color drained from her face.
"Oh God."
"What?"
"Dad took a box."
"What box?"
"Stationery. Blank forms. Old prescription pads. I don't know."
Her breathing accelerated.
"He told me the landlord was throwing it all away."
Keene's pen moved again.
"And Mr. Foss?"
"He stayed in the hallway."
"Did he see the box?"
"Yes."
"Did he object?"
Lauren shook her head.
I stood slowly.
This was no longer about Dad being reckless and his lawyer being careless.
If Lauren was telling the truth, Foss had been present when a client removed material from a closed medical office and later introduced a fabricated report on that office's letterhead.
That crossed a line even Dad could not buy his way back across.
Keene asked Lauren to come voluntarily for a recorded interview.
Lauren agreed.
Before we left, she grabbed my sleeve.
"Evelyn."
I looked at her hand until she let go.
"What?"
"Dad has something else."
"What?"
"A recording of you."
"From the birthday party?"
Her eyes widened.
"You knew?"
"I saw the device."
"Then you know what you said."
"I said thank you for the advice."
Lauren shook her head.
"Not that recording."
A colder feeling moved through me.
"Which recording?"
"The one from Gran's hospital room."
I searched my memory.
Gran had been hospitalized twice during her final year.
On one visit she had asked me whether I would accept the house if she left it to me.
I had told her I did not want her making decisions because of me.
I had told her to do what she wanted.
"What does he have?"
Lauren looked toward Keene.
"An edited version."
"Edited how?"
"It sounds like Evelyn tells Gran to cut Dad out or she'll stop visiting."
My stomach dropped.
I had never said anything close to that.
"Where did he get the original?"
Lauren shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Where is the edited file now?"
May you like
She whispered the answer.
"Gerald has it."
