Chapter 3 - The Waterfront Name

Two days later, I sat at Maya’s kitchen table with Juniper asleep on my feet and a stack of documents spread between two untouched cups of coffee.

Maya leaned over my shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am sitting down.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is to auditors.”

She sighed.

“What are we looking at?”

“Public records.”

“Detective Morales said not to investigate by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. You’re here.”

“That is absolutely not what she meant.”

I smiled for the first time in forty-eight hours.

Then I pointed at the screen.

“Harbor Crest Development.”

Maya read the company name.

“Raymond’s?”

“One of them. It’s a consortium. Raymond appears as managing partner through Vance Urban Holdings.”

“Where’s the waterfront?”

“Pier Forty-Seven. Old warehouse district south of Mission Creek.”

Maya frowned.

“I thought that area was already being redeveloped.”

“Parts of it are.”

I scrolled.

“This parcel is different. It has old title restrictions.”

“Which means?”

“It means someone needs signatures from people who are not obvious on the deed.”

Her expression changed.

“People like you?”

“Maybe.”

My phone rang.

Maya looked at the screen.

“Morales.”

I answered.

“Detective.”

“Sabrina, are you somewhere safe?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need you to come in this afternoon.”

“Did you find something?”

“Yes.”

“About the deal?”

A pause.

“You have been researching.”

“I looked at public records.”

“Sabrina.”

“I know.”

“Two o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

At police headquarters, Morales was waiting with a man in a charcoal suit who introduced himself as Assistant District Attorney Owen Price.

He shook my hand.

“Ms. Hale.”

“Sabrina.”

“Then Owen.”

We sat.

Morales placed a photograph on the table.

It showed an old legal document.

The heading read: MAREN HARBOR TRUST.

My mother’s maiden name was Maren.

I stared at it.

“Where did you get this?”

“From the title file attached to the waterfront transaction,” Owen said.

“My family had a trust?”

Morales answered, “Your maternal grandfather, Elias Maren, created it thirty-one years ago.”

“I barely knew him.”

“You were eleven when your mother died?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother was a beneficiary. The interest passed to you.”

I shook my head.

“No. My father handled her estate. He would have told me.”

Owen slid another document across the table.

“Your father knew about it.”

I recognized his signature.

My throat tightened.

“What is this?”

“An acknowledgment from six years ago. After his death, notices were mailed to you at your marital address.”

I looked up.

“I never received them.”

Morales said, “We know.”

“How?”

“Because we executed a search warrant on your apartment this morning.”

My stomach dropped.

“What did you find?”

“A locked file box in Christopher’s home office.”

I stared at her.

“What was in it?”

“Letters addressed to you.”

“How many?”

“Nine.”

I closed my eyes.

Maya, sitting beside me, whispered, “Oh my God.”

Morales continued.

“Several were from a law firm representing the trust. Two were from a title company. One was from a retired trustee named Celeste Ward.”

I opened my eyes.

“Christopher took my mail.”

“That appears to be the case.”

Owen pointed to the trust document.

“Your beneficial interest is currently eighteen percent.”

“Eighteen percent of what?”

“The parcel.”

“What is it worth?”

“Before redevelopment, approximately twenty-two million dollars for your share. Potentially more after approvals.”

I laughed because there was no other sound available.

“Twenty-two million.”

Maya stared at me.

“You’re a millionaire?”

“Apparently I’m an uninformed one.”

Owen did not smile.

“The money is not the most important part.”

I looked at him.

“What is?”

“Unanimous beneficiary consent is required for the transfer Raymond is trying to close.”

“So they needed my signature.”

“Yes.”

“Why not just ask me?”

Morales slid another page across the table.

“Because the deal has problems.”

I read the first paragraph.

Environmental remediation certification.

Then the second.

Beneficiary release of historical liability.

My auditor’s brain took over.

“They wanted me to sign a liability release.”

Owen nodded.

“And a transfer authorization.”

“If contamination is discovered after closing, beneficiaries could be pulled into litigation.”

“Correct.”

“How bad is the contamination?”

“We don’t know yet.”

I looked down at the pages.

“Raymond does.”

Morales said, “That is one theory.”

I looked up.

“Who is Gregory?”

Owen answered.

“Gregory Sloan. A notary and transaction consultant based in San Diego.”

“And Samuel?”

“Samuel Keene. Independent broker. He brought a private buyer into the consortium.”

Maya said, “So the two strangers at dinner were there for the signature.”

“Likely,” Morales said.

I thought about Samuel saying, I agreed to witness a signature.

“He didn’t know about the drugging.”

“We don’t know what he knew.”

“Has he talked?”

“He has counsel.”

“Gregory?”

“Missing.”

“What do you mean missing?”

“He did not return to his hotel. His phone is off.”

I leaned back.

“Raymond scared him.”

“Possibly.”

I looked at Owen.

“Why photograph me?”

He glanced at Morales.

She answered.

“We found more images.”

My chest tightened.

“How many?”

“Twenty-three.”

Maya swore under her breath.

I forced myself to ask.

“What kind?”

“Staged.”

“Explain.”

Morales chose her words carefully.

“Images designed to imply compromising behavior without showing an actual assault.”

I felt my hands go cold.

“With whom?”

“Different angles. In two sets, Samuel is visible in the room. In another, only a man’s jacket and arm are visible.”

“Christopher took them?”

“Metadata places many of the photographs on his phone.”

I covered my mouth.

Maya reached for my hand.

Owen said quietly, “Sabrina, we believe the photographs may have been intended as leverage.”

“Blackmail.”

“Yes.”

“If I refused to sign, they would claim I was having an affair.”

“That is one possibility.”

I thought about the smeared lipstick.

The blouse.

The pictures.

The same room.

I whispered, “They were building a story.”

Morales nodded.

“A story you would have difficulty disproving because you were unconscious.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then I asked, “How long has Christopher known about the trust?”

Owen opened a folder.

“We found an email from him to Raymond dated twenty-two months ago.”

He pushed a copy toward me.

The subject line was: SHE STILL DOESN’T KNOW.

I read the first line.

Dad, title counsel confirmed Sabrina is the Maren beneficiary.

My vision blurred.

Maya whispered, “Don’t read more if you don’t want to.”

I kept reading.

We can manage this, but she won’t sign anything blind. We need another approach.

I stopped.

“Twenty-two months.”

Morales said nothing.

“He slept beside me for twenty-two months knowing.”

Maya squeezed my hand.

I looked at the detective.

“Was the first blackout four months ago?”

“Yes.”

“So they tried other approaches first.”

Owen nodded.

“We are still reconstructing the timeline.”

I pushed the email away.

“Then reconstruct it faster.”

Morales’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That anger will help you until it hurts you.”

“I’m not angry.”

Maya looked at me.

“You are absolutely angry.”

I stood.

The room tilted only a little now.

“Good,” I said. “Then maybe I can finally use it.”

Morales stood too.

“Use it to remember details. Not to confront anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“That includes Christopher.”

I looked at the email again.

“He is not my husband anymore.”

“Legally, he is.”

“Not in any way that matters.”

Owen gathered the papers.

“There is one more thing.”

I waited.

“The trust’s retired administrator agreed to meet with us tomorrow.”

“Celeste Ward?”

“Yes.”

“What does she know?”

Morales said, “Enough that Raymond’s lawyers tried to stop us from speaking with her.”

That was the first good news I had heard all day.

May you like

[COMPLETED] She waited ten years for her fiancé, but the night she marri...

[COMPLETED] Five Years After My Mafia Husband Chose Another Woman, He Me...

[COMPLETED] I CALLED MY HUSBAND 18 TIMES WHILE OUR SON WAS DYING. EIGHT...

I picked up my coat.

“Then I definitely want to hear what she has to say.”