Chapter 12: Behind the Wheel

Rain hammered against the hospital windows.

Through the blurred glass, Damien remained beside his car.

He hadn't moved.

His suit jacket was soaked.

His hair clung to his forehead.

Yet he continued waiting.

"Mrs. Ashford?" Helen asked softly.

"Would you like me to ask security to escort him away?"

"No."

"I'll leave through another exit."

Helen nodded.

"There's a staff entrance behind Radiology."

"Thank you."

I slipped Nathaniel's notebook into my handbag beside the walnut box.

The two items felt impossibly heavy.

One carried answers.

The other carried secrets.

Both could destroy lives.

Ten minutes later I stepped into the hospital's rear car park.

The rain had eased into a fine drizzle.

A taxi waited near the curb.

"Storage First Secure," I told the driver.

"East Dock Road."

The driver glanced at me in the mirror.

"Bit out of the way, miss."

"I know."

The car pulled into traffic.

I looked back once.

Damien was still standing outside the front entrance.

Waiting for someone who had already left.

The journey took nearly forty minutes.

The further east we drove, the older the buildings became.

Luxury boutiques gave way to warehouses.

Glass towers disappeared behind rows of ageing brick factories.

Finally the taxi stopped outside a grey industrial building surrounded by steel fencing.

FIRST SECURE STORAGE.

I paid the fare and stepped out.

Inside, a young receptionist looked up from his computer.

"Good afternoon."

"How may I help you?"

I placed the storage receipt on the counter.

"I'd like to access Locker 218."

He studied the receipt.

"Nathaniel Romano?"

"Yes."

"May I see identification?"

I handed over my driving licence.

He compared the names carefully.

"I'm afraid the account holder is deceased."

"Do you have proof you're authorised to collect his belongings?"

I opened my handbag and removed the small envelope Nathaniel had addressed to me years ago.

My name was written clearly across the front.

The receptionist examined it.

"One moment."

He disappeared into an office.

Several minutes later an elderly manager emerged.

"Mrs. Ashford?"

"I'm Arthur Collins."

"Your brother left specific instructions."

"If he failed to return within twelve months..."

"Access was to be granted only to you."

He reached into his pocket.

A small brass key rested in his palm.

"We've been waiting three years."

My throat tightened.

"Thank you."

Arthur personally escorted me through a maze of narrow corridors.

Rows upon rows of metal doors stretched in every direction.

He finally stopped.

218.

"I'll leave you alone," he said.

"Take as much time as you need."

The footsteps faded.

I stared at the lock.

Then inserted the brass key.

The mechanism clicked.

The metal door rolled upward with a deep rumble.

Inside...

Only one cardboard archive box rested on the concrete floor.

Nothing else.

No furniture.

No valuables.

No hidden fortune.

Just a single box.

I knelt beside it.

Inside were dozens of folders.

Financial statements.

Engineering reports.

Land surveys.

Every document related to the Hawthorne Development project.

Nathaniel hadn't trusted anyone.

He had copied everything.

At the very bottom lay something wrapped in brown paper.

I carefully unfolded it.

A leather-bound diary.

Different from the notebook.

Older.

Much older.

Its cover bore no title.

Only one embossed letter.

D.

I frowned.

D wasn't Nathaniel.

I opened the first page.

Property of Damien Ashford.

My heartbeat stopped.

It was Damien's handwriting.

The diary dated back nearly ten years.

Long before he met me.

Long before our marriage.

How had Nathaniel ended up with it?

Before I could read another page, tyres screeched somewhere outside the warehouse.

A car door slammed.

Then another.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Male voices.

"She came here."

"Search every unit."

My pulse quickened.

That wasn't Damien's voice.

I quickly placed the diary into my handbag.

Then gathered the Hawthorne files.

The footsteps were getting closer.

Someone stopped just outside Locker 218.

A shadow stretched across the concrete floor.

Then a deep voice spoke.

"Mrs. Ashford..."

"We need to talk about your brother."