Chapter 2 - THE FILE UNDER THE FLOORBOARDThe next morning, Henrietta hired Attorney Samuel Montgomery.
She had known Samuel for nearly thirty years.
He had handled her husband's estate and several complicated business matters after his death.
When Henrietta explained what she had found, Samuel listened without interrupting.
Then he asked one question.
“Did Natasha say anything about money?”
“Not directly.”
“Property?”
“No.”
“Your husband's old business?”
Henrietta looked at him.
“Why would that matter?”
Samuel leaned back.
“Because Brock's behavior doesn't look like ordinary domestic abuse.”
“What does it look like?”
“Control.”
Henrietta thought about the coop.
The locked door.
The hunger.
The isolation.
Then Samuel continued.
“People don't usually go to that extreme unless they're trying to prevent someone from leaving, speaking, or accessing something.”
Henrietta's stomach tightened.
“What could Natasha possibly know?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
Samuel nodded.
That afternoon, Henrietta returned to the ranch.
Brock wasn't there.
The house was strangely quiet.
She walked through rooms she remembered from her childhood.
The family photographs were still on the walls.
But several had been removed.
She stopped in front of one particular frame.
It showed her husband, Arthur, standing beside Brock at age twelve.
Arthur's hand rested on Brock's shoulder.
Behind them was the old barn.
Henrietta remembered that day.
She also remembered something else.
Arthur had been furious that morning.
He had told her, “Some things should never be put in writing.”
She had never understood what he meant.
Now she noticed the photograph's frame was slightly crooked.
She removed it.
Behind it was a small rectangular mark on the wall.
A concealed panel.
Henrietta's pulse quickened.
She pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then she remembered Arthur's study.
She went upstairs.
His old office had been untouched for years.
Brock had apparently avoided it.
The desk was covered in dust.
Henrietta opened the drawers.
Nothing.
She checked the shelves.
Nothing.
Then she noticed the floorboard beneath the desk.
One corner was raised.
She knelt.
Her fingers found a narrow gap.
She lifted the board.
Inside was a metal box.
Locked.
Henrietta stared at it.
She remembered Arthur's final month.
He had become paranoid.
He had started keeping documents outside their home.
He had told her, “If anything ever happens to me, don't trust the people closest to you.”
At the time, Henrietta thought he was frightened because of his illness.
Now she wasn't sure.
She called Samuel.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
Inside the box were bank records, property documents, photographs, and a sealed envelope.
The envelope had her name on it.
HENRIETTA.
Her hands trembled.
She opened it.
Arthur's handwriting stared back at her.
If you are reading this, something happened that I hoped never would.
Henrietta read faster.
Brock is not the man I raised him to be.
Her breath stopped.
Samuel leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
Henrietta continued.
I discovered irregular transfers from the ranch account. Money was moved into accounts I did not authorize. When I confronted Brock, he denied everything.
She looked up.
“Brock stole from him?”
“Keep reading.”
The letter continued.
But the money is not the real danger.
Henrietta's hands went cold.
Someone is trying to gain control of the property through Natasha.
Samuel frowned.
“Through Natasha?”
Henrietta read the next paragraph.
There is a trust established in Natasha's name.
She looked at Samuel.
“What trust?”
“I don't know yet.”
The letter ended with one sentence.
Do not tell Brock you found this.
Henrietta folded the paper.
“He knows.”
Samuel looked at her.
“How?”
“Because he said Natasha would lose everything if I reported him.”
Samuel's expression hardened.
“Then we need to find out what everything is.”
That evening, Henrietta returned to the hospital.
Natasha was awake.
She looked frightened when Henrietta entered.
“You came back.”
“I said I would.”
Natasha looked toward the door.
“Is Brock here?”
“No.”
She relaxed slightly.
Henrietta sat beside her.
“I found something.”
Natasha's face changed.
“What?”
“A letter from my husband.”
Natasha stared at her.
“Arthur knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Brock wasn't who everyone thought he was.”
Natasha closed her eyes.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I tried to tell him.”
Henrietta leaned forward.
“Tell me now.”
Natasha's fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Your husband discovered that Brock was moving money.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
Natasha shook her head.
“He made me sign documents.”
“What documents?”
“I thought they were loan papers.”
Henrietta went still.
“What happened after you signed them?”
“Brock told me I owed him.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Natasha's voice broke.
“He said the house was his. The land was his. The bank accounts were his. He said if I left, he'd make sure everyone believed I stole from him.”
Henrietta felt a deep anger rising.
“Why didn't you call the police?”
Natasha gave a bitter little smile.
“He had already made sure I wouldn't.”
“How?”
Natasha looked at the door.
“He told them I was mentally unstable.”
Henrietta's face hardened.
Then Natasha whispered something else.
“Mrs. Radford?”
“Yes?”
“There is something you need to know about the ranch.”
“What?”
Natasha swallowed.
“Your husband didn't leave the property to Brock.”
Henrietta stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“The land belongs to someone else.”
“Who?”
May you like
Natasha looked directly into her eyes.
“Me.”
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