Chapter 10 - The Storage Unit on Ashland AvenueI called Sabine seven times.
No answer.
Nolan called five.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something from childhood.
When Sabine was frightened, she didn't always ask for help directly.
Sometimes she hid.
Once, when she was nine, she broke my mother's favorite crystal bowl.
Instead of admitting what happened, she crawled into the laundry closet and stayed there for nearly three hours.
I found her sitting behind a pile of towels.
She looked at me with enormous frightened eyes.
“Is Mom going to hate me?”
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
Then said:
“She'll be upset about the bowl, but that doesn't mean she stops loving you.”
Sabine had cried against my shoulder.
I remembered holding her until she calmed down.
Now, twenty-two years later, I wondered whether she'd finally found a mistake too large to hide.
Nolan wanted to drive directly to the storage facility.
I stopped him.
“We don't know what we're walking into.”
“What if she's there?”
“Then we need to find out safely.”
I contacted the police and explained the messages, including Sabine's suggestion that she was afraid of Adrian.
Because the information didn't establish an immediate emergency, the officer I spoke with recommended documenting the messages, checking available contacts, and reporting any specific threats or evidence of danger.
I also contacted our attorney.
Then Nolan and I drove to Ashland Avenue.
The storage facility sat between an auto-repair shop and an old warehouse.
It was a two-story brick building with security cameras mounted above the entrance.
The office was brightly lit.
A woman behind the counter looked up.
“Can I help you?”
I introduced myself.
“My sister rents a unit here. We're trying to reach her.”
The woman frowned.
“I'm sorry, but I can't confirm customer information without authorization.”
I nodded.
“I understand.”
I showed her Sabine's message.
“We're concerned about her safety. If you see her, would you ask her to contact us?”
The woman read the message.
Her expression softened.
“I can take your contact information and pass it along if appropriate.”
“Thank you.”
We left the office.
Nolan looked frustrated.
“So we just leave?”
“For now.”
He stared at the building.
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
We were walking toward the parking lot when my phone rang.
Sabine.
I answered immediately.
“Sabine?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Meredith?”
I stopped.
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“I'm okay.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
My stomach tightened.
“Sabine, Nolan and I are outside the storage facility.”
She gasped.
“What?”
“You sent him the address.”
“I didn't think you'd come.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then:
“I'm at a friend's apartment.”
“What friend?”
“A girl from art school.”
“Sabine, listen carefully. If Adrian has threatened you, we can help you report it.”
She began crying.
“He told me everything would be fine.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“He said the rental money would cover the interest. Then he said we needed more properties. Then Mom started talking about your lake house, and everything just kept getting bigger.”
Nolan stood beside me, listening anxiously.
I walked toward a quiet corner of the parking lot.
“Why did you sign the deed?”
Sabine began breathing faster.
“Adrian said the company could hold the property temporarily.”
“But you knew I hadn't agreed.”
“Yes.”
The word was almost inaudible.
I swallowed.
For years, Sabine had defended herself with excuses.
This was the first time I could remember hearing her admit something without immediately blaming me.
“Why did you do it?”
She cried harder.
“Because I was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Being a failure.”
I closed my eyes.
“Sabine—”
“You don't understand. Everyone looks at you and sees someone successful. They look at me and see the daughter who never finished anything.”
I leaned against the car.
“Mom and Dad have spent years telling you that you're special.”
“That isn't the same as believing I'm capable.”
I fell silent.
Sabine took a shaky breath.
“Every time something went wrong, Mom said she'd fix it. Every time I needed money, she told me to ask you. I started believing that if I failed, somebody would always make the consequences disappear.”
Her words surprised me.
Not because they were new.
Because she was finally saying them.
“I know,” I whispered.
She cried.
“I didn't think Adrian was going to take your house.”
I looked at the cloudy sky.
“But you knew you were using it.”
“Yes.”
“That's not something you can excuse away.”
“I know.”
For the first time, I believed she might actually understand.
She took a shaky breath.
“I found the bank statements.”
My pulse quickened.
“What do they show?”
“Adrian moved money out of the company almost every week.”
“How much?”
“I don't know exactly. More than two hundred thousand dollars.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“Different accounts. Some were consulting companies. Others were personal transfers.”
“Have you given these statements to anyone?”
“No.”
“Are they legitimate company records?”
“Yes. I had access because I'm listed as managing member.”
“Then preserve them and speak with an attorney. Don't alter or delete anything.”
She sniffled.
“I was going to bring them to you.”
“Where are they?”
“In the storage unit.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Sabine, why did you put them there?”
“Because Adrian came to my apartment looking for them.”
“Did he threaten you?”
She hesitated.
“He said I'd regret making trouble.”
I felt cold.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Good. Stay somewhere safe and tell your lawyer exactly what happened.”
She was silent.
Then she whispered:
“Meredith?”
“Yes?”
“Do you hate me?”
The question broke my heart.
Because I knew the answer.
And because the answer was complicated.
“No, Sabine.”
She began crying harder.
“But I'm angry with you. I'm hurt. And I won't lie to protect you.”
“I know.”
I took a slow breath.
“You need to make your own decisions now.”
She whispered:
“I don't know how.”
“Then start with one honest decision.”
A long silence followed.
Then she said:
“I'll talk to an attorney.”
“Good.”
“And Meredith?”
“Yes?”
“There's something else in the storage unit.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A box Adrian told Mom to destroy.”
I looked at Nolan.
“What kind of box?”
“Old paperwork. Photographs. Some letters.”
“Whose?”
Sabine hesitated.
“Grandma Evelyn's.”
I stopped breathing.
“Why does Adrian have Grandma's papers?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you look inside?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
She began crying again.
“A photograph of you when you were little.”
I stared at the phone.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I know.”
“Sabine, what else?”
She took a shaky breath.
“An envelope.”
My pulse quickened.
“What was written on it?”
May you like
She whispered:
“For Meredith, when she discovers what her parents did.”
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