Chapter 9 - Behind the Red Panel
The guest-room door was locked from the outside.
The French doors were not.
Brandon had been so focused on controlling the hallway that he had forgotten the room opened onto a narrow garden terrace.
I turned the handle with my left hand and stepped into the afternoon heat.
My injured ankle almost buckled.
I caught the stone wall and waited until the courtyard stopped tilting.
The fountain was visible through a row of clipped hedges.
Brandon and Margaret were already there.
He was on one knee beside the bronze grate.
She stood over him.
I had minutes at best.
The study sat on the opposite side of the villa. I moved along the exterior wall, using columns and garden furniture to support myself. Every breath scraped my ribs. My shoulder burned. Sweat ran down my back beneath the simple black shirt I had put on that morning without imagining it would be torn and dusty by afternoon.
At the study's side door, the brass key fit.
The lock turned.
Inside, the room smelled of leather, cedar, and paper.
My father's desk stood beneath the tall windows.
The red document box Nora had described was gone.
I looked around for a red panel.
Nothing.
Then I saw it.
One section of the dark wood wall behind the bookcase had a narrow red leather insert, decorative enough to overlook.
I pressed it.
Nothing happened.
I pulled.
The panel opened two inches.
Behind it sat a shallow metal compartment.
Inside were three things.
A duplicate inventory of the trust documents.
A sealed envelope with my name.
And a folder stamped SLOAN ADVISORY SERVICES.
My hands shook as I opened the folder.
The first page listed payments from accounts connected to the Carter Family Trust.
Not one payment.
Dozens.
Monthly transfers over nearly two years.
Some went to Sloan Advisory Services.
Some went to a company called Crescent Holdings.
And beside Crescent Holdings was a mailing address I recognized.
Margaret's townhouse.
I read the line twice.
Then a third time.
Margaret had been receiving trust money through a company hidden behind a business name.
The next page showed authorization codes.
Several carried Brandon's electronic approval.
Several carried Caleb Sloan's certification.
And the most recent one carried mine.
Except I had never approved it.
I opened the sealed envelope.
Inside was a single typed page signed by my father and witnessed years earlier.
It wasn't a farewell letter.
It was an instruction to whoever reviewed the compartment.
If any amendment attempted to transfer controlling property from me without my direct notarized appearance, the amendment was to be treated as disputed until the original red box could be produced.
My father had built a safeguard into the trust.
The red box mattered because it contained the originals needed to validate any transfer.
Caleb had removed it.
Now I understood why Margaret had talked about a deadline.
They did not simply need my forged signature.
They needed the original documents out of the house before someone compared them.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I spun too fast and nearly fell.
Nora stood in the doorway.
"You shouldn't be moving."
I held up the Sloan folder.
"You knew this was here."
"I knew your father kept a duplicate compartment. I didn't know what was inside."
"Why did you send me here?"
"Because Caleb removed the red box last Tuesday."
"And you waited until today to tell me?"
Pain sharpened my voice.
Nora looked wounded, but she did not defend herself immediately.
Then she reached into her uniform pocket and placed a folded visitor slip on the desk.
It was dated today.
Caleb Sloan.
Expected arrival: 5:00 p.m.
Purpose: Final transfer review.
I looked at the clock.
4:26.
Then shouting erupted from the courtyard.
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Brandon had found the USB.
📖 Find out what the hidden trust records reveal about Margaret's money—and what happens when Brandon finally pulls Emma's USB from the fountain in CHAPTER 10. 👇
