Chapter 3: The Storage Unit
Westlake Storage sat on the edge of an industrial area on the outskirts of town. It was a large, gray, windowless building surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. The kind of place people used when they wanted to keep things hidden.
Finnley arrived just before closing time.
The woman at the front desk barely looked up from her phone when he walked in. He gave her the unit number and showed her the key. She waved him through without asking for ID.
Unit 108 was at the very end of a long, dimly lit hallway on the second floor.
Finnley’s heart was pounding as he approached the metal roll-up door. The key felt heavy in his hand.
He took a deep breath and unlocked it.
The door rolled up with a loud, rattling sound.
Inside was a medium-sized storage unit, about ten feet by fifteen. It wasn’t empty.
Against the back wall were several large plastic bins and two old filing cabinets. On the left side sat a single black duffel bag and a small safe. Everything was neatly organized — exactly the way his father would have done it.
Finnley stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
He started with the duffel bag.
Inside were stacks of cash — mostly hundred-dollar bills — bundled and wrapped in plastic. He didn’t count it, but there had to be at least a hundred thousand dollars, maybe more.
Next, he opened the filing cabinets.
The first drawer contained documents — bank statements, transfer records, and emails printed out and highlighted. Finnley recognized some of the account numbers. They belonged to his father’s company.
There were also medical records.
Finnley pulled out a thick folder labeled Camden Dennis – Medical. Inside were test results, doctor’s notes, and prescriptions. One document in particular caught his attention.
It was a toxicology report dated two weeks before his father supposedly died of cancer.
Finnley’s blood ran cold as he read the findings.
There were traces of a substance in his father’s system — something that shouldn’t have been there. Something that could cause rapid decline in someone who was already ill.
He kept reading.
At the very back of the folder was a handwritten note from his father.
Finnley, if you’re reading this, then I was right to be suspicious. I started feeling worse right after Reagan took over managing my medications. I had my own tests done without telling her. The results are in this folder. I don’t know if she did this on purpose, but I know something isn’t right.
Don’t trust her. Don’t trust Carter. They’ve been stealing from the company for years. I have the proof in the other cabinet.
Finnley closed the folder with shaking hands.
He moved to the second filing cabinet.
Inside were years of financial records — transfers from the company to accounts under Reagan’s and Carter’s names, fake invoices, and documents showing how they had slowly drained the business while framing Finnley for the theft.
At the very bottom of the drawer was a sealed envelope with his name on it.
Inside was a new will.
It had been signed and notarized three weeks before Camden Dennis supposedly died of cancer.
In it, his father left almost everything — the company, the house, and the majority of his assets — to Finnley.
Reagan and Carter had been left with almost nothing.
Finnley sat down on the cold concrete floor of the storage unit, surrounded by everything his father had left behind.
For the first time since he walked out of prison, he felt something other than grief and betrayal.
He felt purpose.
Reagan thought she had won.
She thought Finnley would simply disappear or come crawling back begging for scraps.
May you like
She had no idea what his father had left him.
And she had no idea what Finnley was about to do with it.
