Chapter 62: The Storage Room

The storage facility was located on the outskirts of the city, nearly forty minutes from the apartment. Freya hadn't visited it since shortly after marrying Louis. The monthly fees had been automatically paid from an account established years earlier, which explained why the unit had never been cleared.

Louis offered to accompany her. Freya accepted without argument. If the records had any connection to Victor, searching alone made little sense.

The employee verified Freya's identification and led them down a long corridor to a metal door. When it opened, dust and the smell of cardboard greeted them.

Boxes filled most of the unit. Some were labeled with practical names—TAX RECORDS, DESIGN FILES, HOUSE DOCUMENTS. Others simply said FREYA'S SCHOOL or FAMILY.

Freya stood still.

The belongings belonged to parents she had never actually known, yet the memories inside her body responded with painful familiarity. A photograph sitting atop one box showed the original Freya between her mother and father at graduation.

Louis noticed her expression. "We can come back another day."

"No." Freya picked up the photograph carefully. "I'm okay."

They began with business records. Most documents were ordinary: project invoices, architectural plans, vendor contracts, and tax files. Louis moved quickly through corporate names while Freya checked dates.

After nearly two hours, they found the first reference to Stonebridge Development Services, the dormant entity from Derek's report.

Freya handed the folder to Louis.

The company had originally been created by her father for a joint property project. It had remained inactive after the project ended, but ownership had never been formally closed. Years after Freya's parents died, control had apparently transferred through an administrative authorization.

"Who signed this?" Freya asked.

Louis examined the faded copy. The signature wasn't her father's.

The authorized representative was listed as Martin Vale, an attorney Freya vaguely remembered handling parts of her parents' estate.

"Do you know him?" Louis asked.

"Only from memory. I think he handled paperwork after the accident."

Louis photographed every relevant page and sent them securely to Derek.

They continued searching until Freya opened a smaller box marked PERSONAL. Inside were letters, notebooks, and an old external hard drive.

One envelope carried Louis's grandfather's name.

Freya looked at him. "This feels like something we should read."

The letter was dated years before their marriage. Louis's grandfather thanked Freya's father for helping investigate irregularities in a property partnership. The details were vague, but one sentence stood out: "Victor believes the matter is closed, though I remain unconvinced."

Neither spoke for several seconds.

"Victor," Freya said finally.

Louis took the letter carefully. "This connection started long before my collapse."

The storage unit suddenly felt less like a collection of forgotten family belongings and more like an archive someone might have preferred to remain forgotten.

Freya looked toward the old hard drive in her hand.

"Let's take this home."

Before leaving, Freya took the graduation photograph from the box and placed it carefully in her bag. She couldn't explain why she wanted it. Perhaps inherited affection was still affection in some form. Louis noticed but said nothing. On the drive home, the photograph rested between them beside the folder carrying Victor Shaw's name.

Neither of them wanted to rush the next step. They had learned enough to know that every answer could expose another hidden connection. For now, preserving the evidence and keeping Victor unaware of what they had discovered mattered more than forcing an immediate confrontation.