I didn’t sleep after that phone call.
I sat on my sister’s couch with the lights off, staring at the black screen of my phone.
The message kept repeating in my head.
Ask Wesley what really happened to the last tenant who tried to expose Westbridge.
At 2:06 a.m., I finally woke Melissa.
She sat up, confused.
“What happened?”
I showed her the messages.
Her face changed immediately.
“Call the police.”
“I already spoke to them earlier.”
“Call them again.”
“I don’t even know who sent this.”
“That’s exactly why you call them.”
She was right.
I called.
Officer Ramirez wasn’t on duty anymore, but another officer took the report.
He told me to save everything.
Do not delete the messages.

Do not answer unknown numbers.
Do not return to my apartment alone.
By the time I hung up, Melissa was standing in the kitchen with her arms crossed.
“You left out a lot when you told me what happened.”
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You brought a homeless stranger into your apartment, discovered mold, found out he had evidence against some company, and then men came looking for him.”
When she said it like that, it sounded insane.
“I know.”
“No, Audrey. I don’t think you do.”
I looked toward Nolan sleeping on the couch.
“I was trying to help someone.”
“And now someone is threatening you.”
Her voice softened.
“I’m not judging you for helping him. But you have Nolan to think about.”
That hit exactly where she knew it would.
“I know.”
“Do you trust Wesley?”
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
“I don’t know.”
And that was the truth.
Wesley had been kind.
He had fixed things in my apartment.
He had protected us when those men arrived.
But kindness did not automatically mean honesty.
He had already admitted that he hadn’t told me everything.
Now I needed the rest.
At seven in the morning, I called the number Wesley had written on the back of one of the inspection pages.
It went straight to voicemail.
Then I remembered.
He didn’t have a phone.
The number belonged to an old contact listed on the document.
I felt stupid.
I had no way to reach him.
Then Nolan woke up.
“Where’s Wesley?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he find somewhere to sleep?”
“I hope so.”
Nolan sat up slowly.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You’re mad at him.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You use that voice when you’re mad.”
Melissa looked away so I wouldn’t see her smile.
“I’m worried.”
“About Wesley?”
“About everything.”
He looked at the envelope on the table.
“Did something else happen?”
I should have lied.
Instead, I said, “Someone sent me a message.”

Nolan’s face tightened.
“A bad one?”
“Yes.”
“About Wesley?”
“Yes.”
He thought for a moment.
“Then we should ask him.”
Sometimes children make complicated things sound painfully simple.
By nine, I had made a decision.
I called Officer Ramirez’s precinct and left a message asking her to contact me.
Then I called the homeless shelter Wesley had mentioned outside the grocery store.
The woman who answered was cautious.
I explained that I was looking for someone named Wesley Grant.
There was a pause.
“I can’t give out information about guests.”
“I understand.”
“If he’s here, I can take a message.”
My heart jumped.
“If he’s there?”
“I didn’t say he was.”
Of course.
“Tell him Audrey called.”
Another pause.
Then the woman asked, “Audrey Carter?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
The line became quiet.
“Hold on.”
I sat up straighter.
After nearly a minute, someone picked up.
“Audrey?”
Wesley.
Relief hit me so hard it surprised me.
“Where are you?”
“At the shelter.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You disappeared.”
“You went to your sister’s.”
“How do you know that?”
“Officer Ramirez told me you had a safe place.”
I took a breath.
“We need to talk.”
Silence.
Then he said, “What happened?”
“Someone called me last night.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“What did they say?”
I repeated the words.
Ask Wesley what really happened to the last tenant who tried to expose Westbridge.
Wesley didn’t respond.
My stomach sank.
“You know who they mean.”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“A woman named Margaret Ellis.”
“What happened to her?”
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who could be listening.”
“Wesley, I have my son with me.”
“I know.”
“I deserve answers.”
“You do.”
“Then give them to me.”
He exhaled.
“Meet me somewhere public.”
“Where?”
He named a diner near the police station.
I agreed.
Melissa tried to stop me.
“You’re seriously going?”
“In public.”
“With me,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you involved.”
She stared at me.
“You’re already sleeping in my apartment. I’m involved.”
So an hour later, Melissa and I sat in the back corner of the diner.
Nolan was at school.
I almost kept him home, but I needed one normal thing that morning.
Wesley arrived ten minutes late.
He looked exhausted.
His clothes were the same.
His knee looked worse.
He slid into the booth across from us.
Melissa studied him like she was trying to decide whether to trust him.
I didn’t waste time.
“Margaret Ellis.”
Wesley closed his eyes briefly.
“She lived in Unit 5C.”
My heart skipped.
“In my building?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“About eighteen months.”
I searched my memory.
Unit 5C.
I barely knew the people upstairs.
Then something clicked.
“Was she the older woman with the little white dog?”
Wesley looked surprised.
“You knew her?”
“Not really. I saw her in the elevator.”
I remembered her now.
Gray hair.
Always carrying groceries in reusable bags.
She used to smile at Nolan.
Then one day she was gone.
I assumed she moved.
“What happened to her?”
Wesley put both hands on the table.
“Margaret started complaining about headaches and breathing problems.”
The knot in my stomach tightened.
“She believed something in her apartment was making her sick.”
“Mold?”
“Yes.”
“Did she report it?”
“Repeatedly.”
“To Bell?”
“And Westbridge.”
Melissa leaned forward.
“What did they do?”
“Sent maintenance.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
Wesley continued.
“They painted over several walls and replaced part of the carpet.”
“They didn’t fix the leak.”
“No.”
“What did Margaret do?”
“She started documenting everything.”
Photos.
Emails.
Medical bills.
Maintenance requests.
Then she contacted the city.
Wesley looked at me.
“That’s how I met her.”
“You inspected her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
“Moisture inside two walls. Mold behind the bathroom vanity. Water damage above the bedroom ceiling.”
He paused.
“And electrical wiring that had been installed improperly during renovation.”
My throat tightened.
“Was it dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“How dangerous?”
“Fire dangerous.”
Melissa whispered, “Jesus.”
I stared at Wesley.
“So she tried to expose them.”
“She tried to force repairs.”
“And then?”
His jaw tightened.
“She disappeared.”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“One week before the city review, she stopped answering calls.”
“Maybe she moved.”
“That’s what Bell told everyone.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she left everything.”
I stared at him.
“Everything?”
“Furniture. Clothes. Her dog’s food. Medication.”
My skin prickled.
“What about the dog?”
“A neighbor found it inside.”
I covered my mouth.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“Did anyone call police?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Bell told them she had mentioned moving closer to family.”
“Did she have family?”
“A daughter in Oregon.”
“Did they contact her?”
Wesley nodded.
“She hadn’t heard from Margaret.”
Melissa looked at me.
“This is insane.”
I leaned closer to Wesley.
“Was she ever found?”
“No.”
The diner suddenly felt too loud.
Forks hitting plates.
Coffee machines.
People laughing.
All while we sat talking about a woman who had vanished.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know if it was connected.”
“You knew she lived in my building.”
“Yes.”
“You knew the company was hiding safety problems.”
“Yes.”
“And you still gave me those files without telling me someone disappeared.”
His voice rose slightly.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By giving me evidence people are threatening you over?”
His face tightened.
“I needed someone else to have copies.”
I stared at him.
There it was.
The truth.
“You used me.”
Melissa immediately looked at Wesley.
He lowered his eyes.
“I didn’t intend to.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more because he didn’t deny it.
I pushed the coffee away.
“You put my son at risk.”
Wesley looked at me.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
My voice shook.
“I invited you into my home because Nolan saw someone suffering and wanted to help. I gave you food. Clothes. A place to sleep.”
“I know.”
“And you turned my apartment into a hiding place for your files.”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
He stared at me.
“I didn’t know your address until we got there.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“Last night, when you told me where you lived, I didn’t recognize it.”
“But you said you recognized the building.”
“This morning.”
“How?”
“I saw the maintenance label inside your kitchen cabinet.”
I frowned.
“What label?”
“Westbridge renovation code.”
He leaned closer.
“That’s when I checked my files.”
“And realized?”
“That your building was one of the projects.”
I watched him carefully.
“You could have left.”
“Yes.”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes moved toward the window.
“Because I saw Unit 3B.”
I swallowed.
“My apartment.”
“I remembered it.”
“From eighteen months ago?”
“From Margaret.”
My pulse jumped.
“What does Margaret have to do with Unit 3B?”
Wesley looked back at me.
“She photographed it.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“During the renovation.”
“That doesn’t make sense. She lived upstairs.”
“She believed the water damage wasn’t limited to her unit.”
“And?”
“She found access records.”
“What access records?”
“Maintenance logs.”
Wesley lowered his voice.
“They showed repeated entries into Unit 3B.”
I suddenly felt sick.
“Before I lived there?”
“Yes.”
“What were they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wesley.”
“I don’t know.”
He reached into his backpack.
Melissa immediately stiffened.
“Easy.”
Wesley removed a folded photocopy.
Then slid it across the table.
I opened it.
It was a building maintenance log.
Unit numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
I found 3B.
My apartment appeared again and again.
Access.
Inspection.
Access.
Repair.
Access.
No tenant signature.
Then one entry caught my eye.
UNIT 3B — SEALED.
“What does sealed mean?”
Wesley shook his head.
“I never found out.”
The date was three months before I moved in.
Another entry appeared two days later.
UNIT 3B — CLEARED FOR OCCUPANCY.
Signed by someone named C. VANE.
My chest tightened.
“Charles.”
“Yes.”
The man who had stood outside my door.
I read the page again.
“What happened between sealed and cleared?”
“That’s the question Margaret was asking before she disappeared.”
I looked up.
“Why would she care about my apartment?”
“Because she found something there.”
“What?”
“She never told me.”
“Nothing?”
“She sent me one message.”
Wesley reached into his bag again.
This time he pulled out an old cracked phone.
“I kept it after my service was disconnected.”
He powered it on.
The screen took a long time to light.
Then he opened a message thread.
Margaret Ellis.
The last message was dated eighteen months earlier.
Wesley turned the phone toward me.
The message read:
I FOUND OUT WHAT THEY SEALED IN 3B.
I NEED TO SHOW YOU IN PERSON.
DON’T CALL ME.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“Did you meet her?”
Wesley shook his head.
“She disappeared the next day.”
My mouth went dry.
Melissa whispered, “Audrey, you cannot go back to that apartment.”
I barely heard her.
I was staring at the date.
Something about it bothered me.
Then I remembered something.
My lease.
I had moved into Unit 3B shortly after Margaret vanished.
“How soon after this did I move in?”
Wesley didn’t know.
I did.
I pulled up an old email on my phone.
LEASE APPROVED.
I checked the date.
My hand started shaking.
“What?”
Melissa asked.
I showed them.
My lease had been approved nine days after Margaret’s final message.
Nine days.
They had cleared the apartment.
Margaret disappeared.
Then they rented it to me.
I looked at Wesley.
“Do you think something happened inside Unit 3B?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Margaret found something.”
“Yes.”
“And Charles knows.”
“Yes.”
A terrible thought entered my head.
“What if the mold isn’t the worst thing behind that wall?”
Wesley said nothing.
That silence told me enough.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Officer Ramirez.
CALL ME NOW.
I immediately called.
She answered on the first ring.
“Ms. Carter, where are you?”
“At a diner near the station.”
“Is Wesley Grant with you?”
I looked across the table.
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
My heart started pounding.
“What happened?”
“We ran Charles Vane’s name.”
“And?”
“There’s something you need to know.”
I waited.
Officer Ramirez lowered her voice.
“Charles Vane was questioned eighteen months ago in connection with Margaret Ellis’s disappearance.”
I looked at Wesley.
“And you’re just telling me this?”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Margaret’s car was found abandoned two counties away.”
My stomach turned.
“And?”
“There was evidence inside.”
“What evidence?”
A pause.
Then Officer Ramirez said, “Blood.”
Melissa covered her mouth when I repeated it.
Wesley’s face went completely white.
“Whose?”
I asked.
“The DNA testing was inconclusive at the time.”
“But now?”
Another pause.
“The sample was retested this morning.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
Officer Ramirez said five words that made Wesley slowly stand from the booth.
“It wasn’t Margaret’s blood.”
I stared at him.
“Then whose was it?”
Officer Ramirez answered.
“Wesley Grant’s.”

PART 5 — THE BLOOD IN MARGARET’S CAR

Wesley didn’t sit back down.
For several seconds, he just stood beside the booth staring at my phone.
Officer Ramirez’s words hung between us.
The blood in Margaret Ellis’s abandoned car belonged to Wesley Grant.
Melissa was the first to speak.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Wesley looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
I stood too.
“You don’t know how your blood got inside a missing woman’s car?”
“No.”
“Wesley.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
His voice was low, but something had changed in it.
Fear.
Real fear.
Officer Ramirez was still on the line.
“Ms. Carter?”
“I’m here.”
“Do not leave the diner.”
I looked toward the windows.
Two police cruisers were turning into the parking lot.
“They’re already here.”
“Good.”
The call ended.
Wesley stared toward the entrance.
Then he picked up his backpack.
Melissa immediately stepped between him and the aisle.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not running.”
“That bag says otherwise.”
Wesley slowly put it back down.
Two officers entered.
Officer Ramirez was with them.
The moment she saw Wesley, her face became serious.
“Mr. Grant, I need you to come with us.”
Wesley nodded once.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this moment.”
“At this moment?”
“We need to ask questions.”
Wesley glanced at me.
I hated that I was suddenly wondering whether everything I knew about him was a lie.
The kind man outside the grocery store.
The broken knee.
The repairs.
The bread.
The files.
Maybe all of it was true.
Maybe none of it was.
Officer Ramirez noticed my expression.
“Ms. Carter, we’ll speak afterward.”
One of the officers reached for Wesley’s backpack.
Wesley stopped him.
“Careful.”
The officer frowned.
“What’s inside?”
“Documents.”
“Anything dangerous?”
“No.”
The officer opened it anyway.
Clothes.
Medication.
The old phone.
More copied inspection records.
Then he found something else.
A small brass key.
Wesley stared at it.
Officer Ramirez held it up.
“What does this open?”
“I don’t know.”
I watched Wesley’s face.
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve never seen that.”
Melissa whispered, “Oh, come on.”
Officer Ramirez placed the key inside an evidence bag.
Wesley looked genuinely confused.
“That wasn’t in there yesterday.”
My stomach tightened.
“You had the backpack with you all night.”
“At the shelter.”
“Did anyone touch it?”
“It was beside my cot.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I was asleep.”
Officer Ramirez asked, “Does the key look familiar?”
“No.”
Then Nolan’s voice appeared in my head.
He had been fascinated by Wesley’s backpack the first night.
He had asked what was inside.
I had told him not to touch it.
Another thought hit me.
“The men outside my apartment.”
Everyone looked at me.
“What about them?” Ramirez asked.
“They knew Wesley had the files.”
“Yes.”
“What if they put something in his bag?”
Wesley looked at me sharply.
Melissa shook her head.
“Audrey, don’t start defending him.”
“I’m not defending anyone.”
Officer Ramirez slipped the evidence bag into her pocket.
“We’ll determine where it came from.”
Wesley was led outside.
He turned once before entering the cruiser.
Our eyes met.
He didn’t say anything.
Neither did I.
For the first time since I found him outside the grocery store, I was relieved to see him leave.
And I hated myself for feeling that way.
Officer Ramirez stayed behind.
We sat at the table again.
She opened a notebook.
“Tell me exactly what Wesley told you about Margaret.”
I repeated everything.
The mold complaints.
The city review.
Margaret’s message about Unit 3B.
Her disappearance.
The abandoned car.
Ramirez wrote quickly.
Then she asked, “Did he ever mention being inside Margaret’s vehicle?”
“No.”
“Did he ever tell you he met with her immediately before she disappeared?”
I froze.
“No.”
Ramirez looked up.
“According to old phone records, Margaret called Wesley seven times the night before she vanished.”
My skin prickled.
“He told me they never met.”
“That’s what he told investigators eighteen months ago too.”
“So maybe they didn’t.”
“Maybe.”
I hated that word.
Maybe.
It meant nothing.
It meant everything.
“What does Wesley say about his blood?”
“He says he doesn’t know.”
“Do you believe him?”
Officer Ramirez closed her notebook.
“That isn’t my job.”
I understood.
But I wanted someone to tell me what to think.
Someone to separate the truth from the lies.
Nobody could.
Ramirez continued.
“There’s another reason I came personally.”
“What?”
“The blood isn’t the only new result.”
Melissa leaned forward.
“What else?”
Officer Ramirez hesitated.
“The laboratory also recovered a partial fingerprint from a plastic folder that was found under the passenger seat.”
My heart jumped.
“A folder?”
“Similar to the ones Wesley has been carrying.”
“Whose fingerprint?”
“We’re still confirming.”
Something in her tone bothered me.
“You already know.”
She looked at me.
“We have a preliminary match.”
“To Charles?”
“No.”
“Bell?”
“No.”
My mouth went dry.
“Then who?”
Officer Ramirez slid a photograph across the table.
It showed the inside of Margaret’s car.
The passenger seat.
A red folder on the floor.
A small dark stain near the center console.
I stared at it.
Then she placed a second photograph beside it.
A close-up of the folder.
There was handwriting across the front.
UNIT 3B.
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Melissa asked.
I pointed.
“My apartment.”
Officer Ramirez nodded.
“Margaret appears to have been carrying material related to your unit when she disappeared.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Whose fingerprint was on it?”
Ramirez answered carefully.
“The preliminary match belongs to your landlord.”
“Mr. Bell?”
“Yes.”
I felt suddenly dizzy.
“But he said Margaret moved.”
“I know.”
“Did he tell police he had ever been inside her car?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He denied it.”
Melissa whispered, “So he lied.”
Ramirez didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
I looked through the diner window.
Cars passed normally.
People walked into shops.
Everything outside looked ordinary.
My world no longer did.
“What happens now?”
“We question Wesley again.”
“And Bell?”
“We’re locating him.”
“Locating?”
“He isn’t at the building.”
I remembered his angry face outside my door.
“How long has he been gone?”
“Since last night.”
Another chill.
“And Charles?”
“We have officers trying to contact him.”
“Trying?”
“His attorney says he’s unavailable.”
Of course he was.
I rubbed my forehead.
“I need to get Nolan from school.”
Ramirez shook her head.
“I’d recommend someone else pick him up.”
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
“Until we know who sent those messages, I don’t want your routine to be predictable.”
Melissa immediately said, “I’ll get him.”
“No.”
“Audrey.”
“He’s my son.”
“And you’re the one receiving threats.”
She was right.
I hated it.
But she was right.
Melissa left.
I stayed with Officer Ramirez.
Before she went, she gave me one instruction.
“Do not return to Unit 3B.”
“I need clothes.”
“We can arrange an escort later.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“You may want to call in.”
“I can’t afford to call in.”
“I understand.”
No, she didn’t.
Missing one shift mattered to people like me.
It meant groceries.
Gas.
Electricity.
But I didn’t argue.
After she left, I sat alone in the diner.
My coffee was cold.
I opened the photographs she had allowed me to keep copies of.
Margaret’s car.
The folder.
UNIT 3B.
Then I zoomed in.
There was something underneath the handwriting.
A number.
I enlarged the image.
2147.
I stared at it.
It looked familiar.
But I couldn’t remember why.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Melissa.
GOT NOLAN. WE’RE HEADING HOME.
I exhaled.
Then another message appeared.
Unknown number.
You’re looking at the wrong man.
I froze.
Another message.
Wesley didn’t hurt Margaret.
I looked around the diner.
Nobody seemed to be watching me.
Then a third message.
If you want to know what happened, check 2147.
My heart stopped.
The same number on Margaret’s folder.
I typed before I could stop myself.
WHAT IS 2147?
The answer came instantly.
Your basement.
I stared at the screen.
Our building had a basement.
Tenants weren’t allowed inside.
Mr. Bell always said it contained boilers, pipes, and electrical equipment.
Then I remembered something.
A faded metal door near the laundry room.
A keypad beside it.
I had seen Bell entering numbers there before.
Four digits.
2147.
My hands began shaking.
I called Officer Ramirez.
No answer.
I left a voicemail.
Then I called again.
Still nothing.
I should have waited.
I knew that.
Instead, one thought kept repeating.
Margaret found something connected to Unit 3B.
She disappeared.
She left the number 2147 behind.
Whatever was hidden in that basement might explain everything.
I stood.
Then stopped.
Nolan.
I couldn’t drag him into this.
I texted Melissa.
KEEP NOLAN WITH YOU. I HAVE TO HANDLE SOMETHING.
Her reply came immediately.
AUDREY NO.
I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing across the street from my apartment building.
I told myself I was only going to look.
Nothing more.
No one was near the entrance.
Mr. Bell’s office window was dark.
I crossed the street.
My hands trembled as I entered.
The hallway smelled exactly as it always had.
Old carpet.
Cleaning chemicals.
Something damp underneath.
The basement stairs were beside the laundry room.
I descended slowly.
One step.
Then another.
At the bottom, I saw the metal door.
The keypad glowed green.
I entered:
2.
1.
4.
7.
A click.
The door unlocked.
I almost turned around.
Almost.
Then I pulled it open.
The room beyond was dark.
I used my phone flashlight.
Pipes ran along the ceiling.
Boxes lined one wall.
Old maintenance equipment sat in a corner.
Nothing unusual.
Then I noticed another door at the back.
No keypad.
Just a heavy latch.
I approached.
On the door was a faded piece of masking tape.
Someone had written:
3B.
My breath caught.
I lifted the latch.
The door creaked open.
The smell hit me first.
Mold.
Dust.
Something metallic.
My flashlight swept across the room.
And then I stopped breathing.
Pieces of drywall were stacked against one wall.
Old flooring.
A broken bathroom vanity.
A kitchen cabinet.
All labeled with the same thing.
UNIT 3B.
They hadn’t repaired my apartment.
They had removed parts of it.
Hidden them.
Why?
Then my light fell on a cardboard box.
MARGARET ELLIS.
I whispered her name.
Inside were photographs.
Maintenance reports.
Medical records.
And dozens of handwritten notes.
I pulled out the first photograph.
It showed my apartment during renovation.
The kitchen wall had been completely opened.
Inside the wall was something I didn’t understand.
A narrow metal compartment.
Almost like a safe.
In the next photograph, the compartment door was open.
Someone had written:
FOUND 11:42 PM.
DO NOT REPORT UNTIL VANE ARRIVES.
Another photo.
This one showed several plastic bags inside the compartment.
I looked closer.
Cash.
Bundles of cash.
And documents.
My stomach turned.
So that was it.
The mold was real.
The dangerous wiring was real.
But something else had been hidden inside Unit 3B.
I reached deeper into Margaret’s box.
At the bottom was a small digital recorder.
I pressed play.
Static.
Then Margaret’s voice.
“If anyone finds this, my name is Margaret Ellis. I’ve been documenting Westbridge Development and Robert Bell for six months.”
My pulse raced.
She continued.
“What they found inside Unit 3B is not renovation money.”
A pause.
“It’s payoff money.”
My grip tightened.
Then another voice appeared on the recording.
A man.
Charles.
“You should have left this alone, Margaret.”
I stopped breathing.
Margaret replied, “People are sick because of you.”
Then Bell’s voice.
“You don’t understand what you found.”
“I understand enough.”
There was movement.
Then Margaret shouted.
The recording became chaotic.
A crash.
A man swearing.
Then Margaret yelled one name.
“Wesley!”
My blood froze.
A struggle followed.
Something heavy struck metal.
Then Wesley’s voice.
“Run!”
I nearly dropped the recorder.
That was how his blood got inside Margaret’s car.
He had been there.
He had lied.
But maybe not for the reason everyone thought.
The recording continued.
Margaret was breathing hard.
A car door slammed.
Then silence.
Several seconds later, a final voice spoke.
Quiet.
Close to the recorder.
Charles.
“Find them both.”
The audio ended.
I stood frozen in the basement.
Then I heard something upstairs.
A door closing.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Descending the basement stairs.
I switched off my flashlight.
My heart hammered so hard I was sure whoever was coming could hear it.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Then a man’s voice echoed through the darkness.
“Audrey?”
I knew that voice.
Charles Vane.
He was inside the building.
And he knew exactly where I was.

Click Here to continuous Read​​​​ Full Ending Story👉PART 6 — WHAT CHARLES WANTED BURIED