Chapter 3 - WHAT THE CAMERA SAW
The manager of the storage facility met Myranda beside Unit 318.
He was a tired man named Frank who wore reading glasses on a cord and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. When Myranda showed him her identification, he checked the account and frowned.
“You were here three times this month.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Your code was used.”
“Did you see who came in?”
Frank hesitated.
“Your husband. I’ve met him before. A younger woman was with him once.”
Myranda inserted the key into the lock.
Inside, the unit looked larger than she remembered.
Her father’s rolling tool chest was gone. So were two wooden cases containing his hand planes, the portable table saw he had saved for years to buy, and the cedar box where he kept chisels wrapped in oilcloth.
The concrete floor showed pale rectangles where the equipment had stood.
A moving blanket lay in one corner. Beside it was a frayed yellow tie-down strap from the trunk of Myranda’s Honda.
Callie had been here.
The thought hurt more than Derek’s lie because it reached backward through months of ordinary moments: Callie bringing her coffee, Callie asking to borrow twenty dollars, Callie sitting across from her at dinner while knowing pieces of her grandfather’s life were being carried away.
Myranda drove directly to the municipal courthouse.
A clerk explained that the citation had been generated by a traffic-enforcement camera. Because the vehicle was registered to Myranda, the notices had gone to her. The unpaid balance had eventually triggered the summons.
The clerk rotated her monitor.
A grainy image showed Myranda’s white Honda moving through the intersection after the light changed. Derek’s profile was visible behind the wheel.
In the back seat were two long wooden cases.
Her father’s cases.
The time stamp matched the first storage entry.
Myranda requested copies, arranged a hearing, and paid the administrative amount required to prevent the case from progressing while she disputed responsibility. By the time she returned to her car, her hands were steady.
She no longer needed Derek to admit where he had gone.
She needed to know where the tools had ended up.
That evening, she searched local resale listings. The table saw appeared first, photographed against the tile floor in their own kitchen. The listing had been deleted, but the cached image still showed the corner of Callie’s blue backpack near the refrigerator.
Two hand planes appeared under another seller’s account.
A buyer in Westerville responded when Myranda messaged him. He had paid Derek nine hundred dollars and still had the electronic receipt.
Before going to bed, Myranda added the known sales.
The total was more than eight thousand dollars.
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Callie’s overdue college balance had been $3,200.
Derek had taken far more than he needed to help their daughter.
