Chapter 8 - Beneath the Staircase
When Ruth arrived at Naomi's the next morning, she carried a small envelope wrapped in plastic.
Inside was a copy of an old invoice, an unsigned inspection report, and a photograph of the staircase before the renovation.
She explained that Philip Voss had claimed severe structural damage existed beneath the stairs.
My aunt brought in an independent engineer.
The engineer found that the damage in Philip's photograph had been deliberately exaggerated with removable boards.
Philip had wanted access to the crawlspace and an expensive contract to tear out the entire staircase.
The independent report stopped the work.
“Then why was he still asking about the box?” I asked.
“Because the box held notes and original photographs that contradicted his billing.”
The story was smaller than buried treasure and somehow more disturbing.
People had been willing to frighten an older woman out of her home over a fraudulent renovation.
Years later Gavin had invited that same pressure into my marriage.
Ruth showed me a copy of a letter threatening legal action against Philip Voss.
It was signed by my aunt, but the final paragraph had been crossed out.
The crossed-out words referred to a payment made by a third party.
The name was missing from the copy.
I asked where the original had gone.
Ruth said it might be inside the missing metal box.
That afternoon Mara arranged a supervised retrieval of essential possessions.
I returned to the house with a licensed locksmith and an officer present while the parties followed the temporary order.
The moment I stepped inside, I smelled Brenda's perfume mixed with burnt coffee.
The hallway looked familiar, but my photographs had been turned toward the wall.
A rectangle of carpet beside the staircase had been rolled back.
There were fresh tool marks in the baseboard.
I knelt, opened the utility access panel and found the empty space where my aunt had once stored holiday decorations.
Someone had scraped the wood clean.
Naomi called my name from the office.
She had found a folded sheet beneath the desk.
It was a receipt for a storage unit rented under my name.
May you like
I had never rented a storage unit.
