Inside was no furniture. No boxes. No old decorations.

Only a folding chair, a lantern, three jugs of water, a legal file box, and my mother’s navy handbag.

The same handbag police said had been found with her.

An envelope was taped to it.

My name was written across the front in her handwriting.

For Emily. If you’re reading this, they lied to you first.

Then, behind me, tires crunched over gravel.

PART 2

A black SUV rolled into the lane two rows away and stopped with its engine running.

I pulled the storage door down, slipped inside, and lowered it until only a thin strip of daylight remained.

Footsteps approached slowly.

Then a man’s voice came through the metal door.

“Ms. Carter? We only want to talk.”

I said nothing.

Another voice followed, sharper this time.

“Your mother involved you in something she shouldn’t have.”

I opened the envelope with trembling hands.

The note was short.

Emily, if anyone follows you here, do not trust the police, Richard Hale, or anyone from Lawson Financial. Take the red folder and leave through the back fence. I’m sorry.

Richard Hale had been my mother’s boss for nineteen years.

That morning, he had hugged me at her funeral.

I had thanked him for coming.

Outside, something scraped against the lock.

I opened the file box at my feet.