Chapter 7: The Empty Room
The bright, airy living room felt suddenly sterile and abandoned. Clara walked quickly toward the mahogany coffee table, confirming what her eyes already told her: her tablet was missing, along with the digital files they had stored locally for their renovation permits.
"She took the hardware," Julian said, walking into the kitchen and checking the counters. "She knew we'd find the envelope in the boathouse. She was timing us."
Clara felt a cold wave of panic wash over her, followed immediately by a surge of clarity. She walked over to the landline phone mounted on the kitchen wall, picked up the receiver, and dialed local emergency services, only to hear a rapid, repetitive busy tone. The external phone line had been clipped.
"She cut the hard line," Clara said, dropping the receiver back onto its cradle with a sharp clatter. "And there's no cellular service inside this valley unless you're standing by the front windows."
Julian pulled out his own smartphone, watching the signal indicator drop from one bar to zero as he stepped away from the glass. "She planned every second of this. The phone call when she walked in wasn't to a colleague. It was a signal to someone waiting down by the access road."
Clara walked to the expansive front windows and looked out toward the gravel driveway. Parked near the edge of the property line was a sleek, dark SUV she hadn't noticed earlier when they arrived. As she watched, the vehicle's brake lights flickered twice before it reversed slowly down the winding lane, disappearing behind a thick grove of coastal pine trees.
"She's gone," Clara said quietly, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "She took the evidence, she locked us out of the local network, and she's heading back to town to file the trust transfer."
Julian walked up behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders, applying a steady, grounding pressure. "We still have the physical papers in the boathouse. The handwritten notes from your father, the original drafts—those are real, Clara. Even if she took the digital copies here, the physical archive proves her family has a conflict of interest in the trust."
Clara turned around to face him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and fierce determination. "Julian, if she files that trust before we get to the county courthouse in Port Angeles, the property transfers automatically under emergency probate laws. We won't have standing to contest it for at least six months. By then, the bulldozers will be on the beach."
May you like
Julian looked at his watch. It was just past four o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. The county clerk's office closed at five, and the drive to Port Angeles took at least forty-five minutes down the winding coastal highway.
"We need to leave right now," Julian said decisively. "We take your car. We drive straight to the sheriff's office and file an emergency injunction for preservation of evidence."
