Chapter 7 - The Watch on His Wrist
I moved before I had a plan.
“Hale.”
He turned.
I took three steps and caught his wrist, pulling the sleeve above the watch.
The scratched metal case carried a small dent near the crown.
I had made that dent when I was sixteen after dropping the watch on our kitchen floor. Dad had pretended to be furious, then wore it for twenty more years.
There was no possibility of mistake.
“That belonged to my father.”
Hale yanked his arm free.
“It was a gift.”
“From whom?”
“Thomas.”
“My father disliked you.”
“He respected me.”
“He filed a complaint against you eight years ago for mishandling a veteran’s welfare check.”
Hale’s eyes narrowed.
That complaint had been minor and quietly resolved. Dad had mentioned it once over dinner. I had forgotten until that second.
“You don’t know everything about your father,” Hale said.
“Take off the watch.”
“No.”
“It is estate property linked to an alleged assault and unlawful search.”
“You’re emotionally compromised.”
“Take it off.”
Brooke stepped between us.
“Dad gave it to Warren.”
“Why?”
“Because they were friends.”
Mom’s voice came from the stretcher.
“Thomas never gave you anything.”
Brooke did not look at her.
I turned to Officer Patel.
“Please note the watch in your incident log.”
Hale pointed at her. “Do not write another word.”
Patel’s hand remained on the keyboard.
“I’m documenting observable facts.”
“You’re suspended.”
“For documenting evidence?”
“For insubordination.”
She removed her badge with shaking fingers and placed it on the desk.
Then she kept typing.
That was the first brave act I witnessed that night, and I knew Hale would make her pay for it.
The paramedics moved Mom toward the ambulance. Evelyn went with her.
I wanted to follow, but Mom caught my hand.
“Get the box,” she said. “Before they do.”
The storage unit.
Unit 214.
Hale heard her.
So did Brooke.
That meant speed mattered more than caution.
I called my duty supervisor, Major Adrian Reed—not related to Officer Mason Reed—and gave him a compressed report. He had received my preservation alert but not the full context.
“You are off duty,” he reminded me.
“I understand.”
“You have no investigative authority over local police.”
“I understand.”
“Then do not represent yourself as acting officially.”
“I haven’t.”
“Do not access the storage unit alone.”
“I won’t.”
That was the first lie I told that night.
Not because I thought I was invincible.
Because I was afraid that waiting would allow Hale to erase whatever my father had left.
I drove to Riverside Veterans Storage with the memory card tucked inside my uniform and Dad’s key in my pocket. Evelyn remained with Mom at the hospital. Patel agreed to meet me after completing a written statement.
The storage facility sat beside the river beneath an overpass. Its office closed at eight, but renters used personal access codes after hours.
Dad’s code still worked.
The gate opened.
Rows of metal buildings stretched into darkness.
Unit 214 was near the rear fence.
Its lock had been cut.
The silver shackle hung open.
I drew my privately owned defensive pistol from the locked vehicle case and held it low. My heart pounded hard enough to make my vision pulse.
The unit door stood two inches above the concrete.
Light moved beneath it.
Someone was inside.
I took out my phone and started recording.
“Police have been notified,” I called, though they had not. “Come out with your hands visible.”
The light stopped.
Then came the sound of paper tearing.
I grabbed the handle and pulled.
The door rose with a metallic roar.
Brooke stood inside beside an open metal box.
She was holding a stack of documents over a small fire burning in a trash can.
For one second, we stared at each other.
Then she dropped the papers into the flames.
I kicked the can onto its side.
Burning pages scattered across the concrete.
Brooke grabbed the metal box and ran.
I caught her near the doorway.
She swung the box at my head.
I blocked it with my forearm, and pain shot to my elbow. The box fell open between us.
Photographs, bank records and small audio cassettes slid across the floor.
Brooke lunged for one manila folder.
I reached it first.
She clawed at my wrist.
“Give it to me!”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what Dad did.”
Headlights swept across the open unit.
A vehicle accelerated down the narrow lane toward us.
Brooke looked past me.
Her face filled with terror.
Not relief.
“Clara,” she whispered. “Move.”
The vehicle did not slow.
May you like
I shoved Brooke sideways and dove behind a concrete support as the unmarked police SUV crashed through the entrance of Unit 214.
📖 Brooke burned her father’s records, but someone tried to kill them both. Chapter 8 reveals what survived the fire—and who Hale was truly protecting. 👇
