“What?”
“The deputies found empty document boxes in your attic.”
“No.”
“Were the papers there Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“I had them that morning.”
“Did anyone else know?”
“My attorney.”
“Name?”
“Henry Bell.”
“And your husband?”
Sarah looked toward Michael.
“I hadn’t told him everything yet.”
Michael looked hurt, but he said nothing.
Lena continued.
“Did Rourke mention the survey when he came?”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said, ‘You found something that doesn’t belong to you.’”
Lena exchanged a glance with another detective.
“And when you refused?”
“He told me people make mistakes when they’re exhausted.”
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t know.”
Sarah swallowed.
“Then he looked at the twins.”
Michael’s expression changed.
“He looked at our children?”
Sarah nodded.
“He said, ‘You have enough to worry about.’”
Michael turned toward the wall, breathing through his anger.
Lena continued.
“Did he threaten them?”
“Not directly.”
“But you believed he might?”
“I was alone. Michael was away. I had three children in the house.”
Her voice cracked.
“I became afraid.”
“So you told Emily to hide the babies if anyone returned.”
Sarah nodded.
“I thought I was being paranoid.”
“You weren’t.”
Police arrested David Rourke the next afternoon.
Not for attempted murder.
Not yet.
They had enough to hold him for burglary, evidence tampering, and assault based on Michael’s identification and physical evidence placing his vehicle at the property.
Rourke denied everything.
His attorney claimed Rourke had visited Sarah only during regular business hours.
The nighttime vehicle?
Someone else had access.
The boot print?
Common size.
The smashed phone?
Not his.
Then forensic technicians recovered partial data from the device.
The phone belonged to Sarah.
One audio file had survived.
It lasted twenty-seven seconds.
Lena listened to it alone first.
Then she played it for Michael and Sarah.
Static.
Sarah’s weak voice.
“Get out of my house.”
A man answered.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Rourke.
Sarah again.
“My daughter is here.”
“Then lower your voice.”
A crash.
Sarah cried out.
Then Rourke said something that changed the entire case.
“You should have taken the money before Harrison realized what you found.”
The recording ended.
Michael looked at Lena.
“Who is Harrison?”
Sarah went pale.
Lena noticed.
“You know.”
Sarah whispered, “Thomas Harrison.”
“Who is he?”
“The chairman of Weston Creek.”
Michael frowned.
“I thought Rourke ran the project.”
“He does.”
Sarah shook her head.
“But Harrison signed the original purchase agreement.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Lena leaned forward.
“Before Weston Creek started buying surrounding properties?”
“Yes.”
Sarah looked at Michael.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The old survey wasn’t hidden.”
Michael waited.
“It had been filed with the county.”
“So why didn’t anyone see it?”
“Because it was replaced.”
Lena’s expression hardened.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Sarah whispered, “But somebody inside the county recorder’s office changed the boundary records.”
The case spread far beyond the Carter farmhouse.
State investigators became involved.
Then federal investigators.
Subpoenas went out.
Computer servers were seized.
Financial accounts were frozen.
Weston Creek executives began hiring criminal defense attorneys.
