Chapter 3 - THE RED FOLDER
At 4:06 that morning, a doctor told me our baby still had a heartbeat.
Only then did I realize I had been holding mine.
Irene had bruised ribs, a split lip, soft-tissue injuries, and swelling along her cheek.
The obstetrician wanted her monitored.
I wanted Margaret and Carla as far away from her as possible.
Detective Elena Brooks arrived before sunrise.
I handed her my phone.
She watched the recording twice.
The second time, she paused when Carla’s hammer struck the safe.
“What was stored inside?”
“Cash. Family gold. Documents.”
“Anything particularly valuable?”
I looked at Irene.
“The red folder.”
Brooks turned toward her.
Irene explained that five days earlier, she had been organizing documents related to a refinancing package for Wentworth Properties.
Before marrying me, Irene had worked in compliance for a regional bank.
She noticed numbers most people ignored.
One invoice listed a consulting payment of $480,000.
Another document referenced the same work for $48,000.
Same project.
Same date.
Same vendor.
Alder Crest Advisory.
She pulled more records.
The discrepancies continued.
“I thought it could be a clerical mistake,” Irene said.
“So you told Austin?”
She looked at me.
“No.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to understand it first.”
She had gathered seven original documents from boxes my late father left in our home office.
She placed them inside the red leather folder.
Then she locked it in our bedroom safe.
I remembered seeing it.
I remembered telling her I would look after London.
And then I forgot.
“Did anyone know?” Brooks asked.
“One person.”
Irene stared at the blanket covering her legs.
“Martin.”
She had called him because his signature appeared on three of the documents.
She asked if Alder Crest was one of our approved vendors.
Martin told her he would check.
Two hours later, he called back and said the invoices were legitimate.
That evening, Irene noticed the first scratches around our safe keypad.
My stomach turned.
“What exactly was in the red folder?” I asked.
“Copies of vendor approvals. Two original authorization sheets. A handwritten note from your father.”
“What note?”
“I only read part of it.”
She closed her eyes.
“It said Martin’s financial authority was being terminated.”
Detective Brooks sat forward.
“That folder is missing now?”
“Yes.”
I thought about the open suitcase.
The gold.
The money.
The jewelry.
Suddenly the scene became obvious.
The valuables weren't the objective.
They were decoration.
Irene confirmed it.
Before Martin left, she heard him tell Carla, “Use her suitcase. Put enough in it so the story makes sense.”
My skin went cold.
“What story?”
Irene looked directly at me.
“That I was robbing you.”
The frame was almost elegant.
Pregnant wife caught with husband’s cash, gold, jewelry and confidential documents while he was overseas.
Concerned mother and sister intervene.
Violence follows.
If I hadn't returned early, Irene would have been the only person telling a different version.
Brooks closed her notebook.
“Mr. Wentworth, I need you to understand something. Your video proves an assault occurred while you were present. It does not automatically prove everything that happened before you arrived.”
“I know.”
“And if that missing folder matters, we need to establish who had it.”
I looked toward Irene.
She whispered, “Martin did.”
“How certain are you?”
“I saw it under his arm when he left.”
That gave us our first answer.
But it created a much worse question.
May you like
Why would the attorney who controlled nearly every legal aspect of my family’s business risk entering my house in the middle of the night for seven pieces of paper?
📖 The missing folder changed the burglary into something bigger, and the electronic trail from our house was about to prove Irene had not imagined Martin’s visit. 👇
