Chapter 6 - Caroline’s Six-Digit Warning
I called Jenna Brooks.
Not Evan.
Never Evan again.
Jenna had handled commercial disputes for Carter Group before my father died, and unlike Evan, she had never been involved with our family trust.
She answered on the second ring.
“Daniel?”
“I need you to tell me how to preserve a phone as evidence.”
She paused.
“What kind of phone?”
“Caroline’s.”
Silence.
Jenna had known my wife.
Not closely, but enough to attend the funeral.
“Daniel, Caroline’s phone was never recovered.”
“My mother had it.”
This time Jenna did not ask whether I was sure.
She said, “Don’t unlock it. Don’t connect it to anything else. Photograph it from every angle and turn off your home Wi-Fi.”
I did exactly what she said.
Within forty minutes, Jenna was sitting across from me at the office desk.
Lily had finally fallen asleep upstairs after refusing to let go of my hand until exhaustion won.
Jenna wore no expression when I showed her the petition.
That worried me.
“What?”
She tapped the forged declaration.
“This is not amateur work.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean the signature block, formatting, notarial language, document numbering—it matches Evan’s office templates.”
“So Evan did it.”
“It means whoever created it had access to his system.”
I showed her the Blue Heron transfer.
She studied the metadata.
“And this was approved from your home office?”
“I wasn’t home.”
“Who was?”
“My mother.”
Jenna looked toward the locked door.
“And Lily.”
The shame hit me hard.
I had left my daughter with someone who had been planning against us.
Jenna noticed.
“Don’t lose focus.”
I nodded.
She examined Caroline’s phone.
“Did Caroline use a six-digit code you knew?”
“I tried three.”
“Stop guessing.”
Lily’s voice came from the doorway.
“Mommy used my song.”
I turned.
She stood there holding her stuffed rabbit.
“What song?”
“The number song.”
I stared at her.
Caroline had taught Lily a silly rhythm to remember our old house alarm.
Six numbers.
I hadn’t thought of it in years.
Jenna entered the code.
The phone unlocked.
Caroline’s face appeared on the wallpaper.
Lily at age four sat on her shoulders, both of them laughing.
I had to look away.
Jenna touched my arm once.
Then she switched into evidence mode.
Airplane mode.
Screenshots.
Photographs.
No unnecessary changes.
Most of the messages had been deleted.
So had the call history.
But one folder remained.
FILES.
Inside were dozens of PDF scans named with dates and initials.
The newest folder was labeled SCHEDULE C.
It contained only one file.
Encrypted.
Another folder caught my eye.
DRAFTS.
Inside was a plain text note.
The timestamp was three days before Caroline died.
Daniel—
If you find this, don’t ask Marlene first. Check Blue Heron. The trust payments are not what Evan says they are.
There was more.
I scrolled.
The next line stopped halfway across the screen.
Your father found out before he died, and he changed—
Nothing after that.
No explanation.
No finished sentence.
Jenna leaned closer.
“Changed what?”
I thought about the missing trust binder.
The missing red folder.
The override key.
Then the phone chimed.
A cloud synchronization notice appeared.
REMOTE DEVICE REQUEST RECEIVED.
Jenna grabbed the phone.
“Someone is trying to wipe it.”
The screen flashed.
May you like
DELETION IN PROGRESS.
📖 See whether we saved Caroline’s files before the remote wipe finished—and what one surviving photograph proved about Marlene’s access to my safe in CHAPTER 7. 👇
