Chapter 6 - THE STORAGE UNIT
I did not go to the storage facility.
That would have been satisfying and stupid.
The unit was not mine.
The lease was not mine.
Whatever was inside, I had no right to enter it.
So I did what lawyers do when a locked door belongs to someone else.
I documented that the door existed.
Gavin obtained the publicly available business information for the facility and confirmed the lease relationship through a lawful source he already had access to.
Lena added the storage unit to the list of assets and records potentially relevant to discovery.
Then we left it alone.
Alistair did not.
At 6:12 the next morning, Gavin called me.
"Someone emptied the unit."
I sat up in bed.
"How do you know?"
"The facility's public loading area camera faces the entrance."
"You have footage?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"I was parked across the street on public property."
I closed my eyes.
"Gavin."
"I did not enter private property."
"Who was there?"
"George."
"Anyone else?"
"Two movers and a rental truck."
"Martha?"
"No."
"Alistair?"
"No."
"What did they remove?"
"Boxes, a metal filing cabinet, and what looked like two computer towers."
"Did you photograph it?"
"From the public road."
"Send the photos to Lena, not me."
"Already did."
He paused.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"George saw me."
That was bad.
"Did he approach you?"
"He walked toward my car."
"And?"
"I left."
"Good."
"He knows you're looking."
"He knew yesterday."
The difference was that now he knew where.
At seven, Lena received a letter from an attorney representing Finch Dynamics.
The letter accused me of interfering with company operations.
It demanded that I cease contacting employees.
It accused Gavin of harassment.
It warned that Finch Dynamics would seek relief if I continued attempting to obtain confidential records.
The language was aggressive.
The facts were thin.
Lena read it once and set it aside.
"They want you defensive."
"I am furious."
"That is not the same thing."
"No."
"We respond narrowly."
She dictated a short letter stating that I denied wrongdoing, had not instructed anyone to access confidential systems unlawfully, and expected preservation of relevant records in anticipation of litigation.
Then she served the divorce petition.
Not dramatically.
Not at the hospital.
A process server delivered it to Alistair's attorney after counsel agreed to accept service.
At 9:03, my phone began vibrating.
Alistair called six times.
I did not answer.
He sent twelve messages.
The first three were angry.
The next four were pleading.
The last five were threats disguised as warnings.
You are going to regret making this public.
You are exposing confidential company matters.
Your firm will not appreciate being dragged into this.
I can tell people exactly how involved you were.
That final sentence mattered.
I forwarded everything to Lena.
At ten, Helen called me into her office.
My stomach tightened even though I had done nothing wrong.
That was how reputational threats worked.
They forced the target to imagine consequences before any actually existed.
Helen closed the door.
"I received a call from an attorney for Finch Dynamics."
"I expected that."
"He suggested you may have used firm resources in connection with your husband's business."
I felt anger rise behind my ribs.
"I have never billed the firm for Alistair's company."
"I know."
"I have never used client information for him."
"I know."
"I introduced him to people socially and professionally, but I disclosed the relationship."
"Jacqueline."
Helen waited until I stopped.
"I am not accusing you."
I breathed out.
"Sorry."
"Do not apologize."
She leaned forward.
"But understand what they are doing."
"They're trying to isolate me."
"Yes."
"And make me afraid of my own career."
"Yes."
"It won't work."
Helen's expression softened.
"Good."
Then she slid a printed email across the desk.
"Because this came in ten minutes after the phone call."
The sender was one of Finch Dynamics' investors, Robert Hale.
I knew him.
I had introduced him to Alistair four years earlier.
The email was addressed to Helen, not me.
It said Robert had been told I had approved a personal guarantee supporting the upcoming transaction.
It said he had recently received information suggesting that representation might be disputed.
He wanted confirmation through counsel before relying on anything associated with my name.
I read the email twice.
"He is protecting himself," Helen said.
"He should."
"Do you want me to respond?"
"Lena should coordinate it."
"Agreed."
Helen studied me.
"How bad is this?"
I looked at the forged signature.
"I don't know yet."
"That bad?"
"Yes."
By noon, the lead investor had formally postponed the closing.
The reason given was document verification.
Alistair learned within minutes.
He called me from a different number.
I answered before realizing who it was.
"What did you do?"
His voice exploded through the phone.
There was no injured husband now.
No softness.
No pretense.
"Hello, Alistair."
"You killed the closing."
"I did not."
"Robert delayed it because of you."
"Then perhaps Robert has concerns."
"You called him."
"I didn't."
"Liar."
The word came so fast it almost made me laugh.
"Be careful," I said.
"Don't threaten me."
"I'm not."
"You think because you're a lawyer you can hide behind technicalities."
"What technicality?"
"You know exactly what you are doing."
"Yes."
That silenced him for half a second.
"I am preserving evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"We'll let the documents answer that."
"You have no idea what those transactions are."
"Which transactions?"
Silence.
He had walked into it.
"I didn't identify any," I said.
He lowered his voice.
"Stay away from company finances."
"Then stop using my name in company financing."
"You agreed."
"No."
"You supported the deal."
"That is not the same as executing a guarantee."
"You said you would help me."
"Before I knew you had a three-year-old son."
"Matty has nothing to do with this."
"You are right."
I looked at the North Lake deed.
"He shouldn't."
Alistair stopped breathing for a second.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"Jacqueline."
I heard fear underneath the anger.
"Who have you talked to?"
"My attorney."
"Who else?"
"Goodbye, Alistair."
"If you destroy this company, eighty-three people lose their jobs."
I closed my eyes.
"Then I hope the people running it tell the truth before that happens."
I ended the call.
At two, Paige's attorney contacted Lena again.
Paige had received a courier envelope that morning.
Inside was a new statement for her to sign.
This one said the Edina condo and the Wayzata lake house were personal gifts from George and Martha Finch, funded entirely from their private assets.
Paige had not signed it.
The cover note was handwritten.
Three words.
Do this today.
The handwriting belonged to Martha.
Then Denise sent a photograph of the envelope.
The return address was not the Finch home.
It was the storage facility in Blaine.
The unit that had been emptied before sunrise.
Lena stared at the image.
"Now I care very much about that storage unit."
"So do I."
"We still don't touch it."
"I know."
At four ten, Gavin called.
His voice was quieter than usual.
"I found the rental truck."
"Where?"
"It returned to the rental lot."
"Empty?"
"Apparently."
"Can you tell where it went?"
"Not lawfully without records we don't have."
"Then why are you calling?"
"Because George left something behind in the truck."
I sat forward.
"How do you know?"
"The rental company called the number on a folder they found under the passenger seat."
"Whose number?"
"Mine."
I frowned.
"Why would your number be in George's folder?"
Gavin's answer made every hair on my arms rise.
May you like
"Because the folder is about me."
