Chapter 10 - Forty-Eight Hours|
Morgan drove to Door County the following morning.
She did not tell Julian where she was going. She informed Patricia, Denise, and the local sheriff's office that she would be inspecting the property after receiving a threatening message.
The drive took several hours, and the scenery gradually changed from crowded roads to open fields, wooded stretches, and glimpses of the lake.
When Morgan finally turned onto the narrow lane leading to Clara's cottage, she felt a familiar ache in her chest.
The house stood exactly as she remembered it.
White siding. Green shutters. A screened porch with a sagging corner. Apple trees that had grown wild around the back fence.
Morgan parked and sat for a moment with both hands on the steering wheel.
“I'm home, Grandma,” she whispered.
Then she noticed the front door.
It was open.
She grabbed her phone and called the sheriff before stepping out of the car.
A deputy arrived ten minutes later. Together, they checked the house.
Nothing appeared to be missing, but someone had entered recently. Muddy footprints crossed the kitchen floor, and several drawers had been opened.
In Clara's bedroom, the mattress had been pulled aside.
The intruder had searched the room.
Morgan felt a chill.
“What were they looking for?” the deputy asked.
“I don't know.”
But she suspected the answer.
The original property documents.
She checked the small desk beside the window. Clara had kept important papers in a locked drawer, but the lock had been forced.
Inside lay old tax records, photographs, and a handwritten inventory of the cottage's contents.
One line had been circled.
Blue tin box — beneath the porch floorboard.
Morgan hurried outside.
Under the porch, she found a loose board near the old rocking chair. Beneath it was a small blue tin box covered in dust.
Inside lay a bundle of letters, a USB drive, and a folded document bearing Clara's signature.
The document was a legal notice from twenty years earlier. It showed that Northstar's predecessor had attempted to secure an easement across the cottage property without proper disclosure.
Clara had successfully challenged the agreement.
The USB drive contained scans of the original survey, including handwritten notes indicating that the planned development would interfere with protected wetlands.
Morgan stared at the map.
The proposed project was not merely a luxury development.
It would require construction through land that had been designated for environmental protection.
Clara had refused to sell because she feared the damage would be permanent.
Morgan understood now why Vance wanted the cottage so badly.
The property was the key to a project that could generate millions of dollars.
And Morgan's signature would remove the final obstacle.
The deputy photographed the documents and advised her to keep the originals secure.
As he left, Morgan called Patricia.
“I found something important.”
Patricia listened as Morgan explained the survey and the old legal notice.
“This could strengthen the case significantly,” the attorney said. “Do not sign anything. Do not meet Vance. We'll arrange for an independent surveyor to authenticate the documents.”
Morgan walked through the cottage, touching the back of Clara's old chair and the chipped ceramic bowl beside the sink.
Then she noticed something carved into the underside of the porch railing.
A small date.
The day before Clara died.
Beneath it were three words.
Look beneath apples.
Morgan went to the orchard.
At the base of the oldest apple tree, she found a flat stone with a small metal ring embedded in it. Pulling the ring lifted a narrow wooden cover.
Beneath it was a waterproof container.
Inside lay a final letter.
Morgan, if you have found this, someone has likely tried to force you to sell. I hope you never have to read these words, but I need you to know that the property is not the only thing they want. The original records identify the people who approved the fraudulent survey.
A second page listed names.
One belonged to Gregory Vance.
Another belonged to a county official.
The third name was Julian Hayes.
Morgan stared at it.
Her husband had signed a statement supporting the development plan.
The date was six years old.
Two years before their marriage.
She felt sick.
Then she noticed the signature at the bottom.
May you like
It was not Julian's.
Someone had forged his name.
