Chapter 8 - The Safe That Had Been Emptied
Police obtained a second warrant for the Hawthorne Ridge house and opened the wall safe in Grant and Rebecca’s bedroom.
It was empty except for one thing: a torn sheet of paper with an impression left by whatever had been written on the page above it. The crime lab enhanced the indentations.
Buck Creek Marina — Slip 14 — Tues 6 a.m.
There was also a partial fingerprint on the inside panel that belonged to Grant, and one on the torn paper that belonged to Rebecca.
Pike believed Rebecca had removed something from the safe before Friday’s fight—possibly the original records Grant wanted back.
The marina lead sent officers two counties south.
They found a rented pontoon slip, a locked dock box, and inside it a cheap duffel bag containing a change of clothes, burner-phone batteries, and a sealed envelope addressed to K.B.
Karen Bell.
The assistant U.S. attorney.
Inside the envelope were copies of dealership transfer ledgers and a typed statement signed by Rebecca. The date on it was Friday morning, just hours before I went for pickup.
She had written:
If anything happens to me, Grant Mercer is responsible. He has used multiple dealership entities to move stolen or fraudulently titled vehicles. I have seen documents bearing the names of deceased individuals and forged signatures. I believe at least one local officer tipped him off to inquiries. I am afraid for my daughter.
Pike set the statement down very carefully.
That line about a local officer landed hard.
It explained something we hadn’t been able to reconcile: why Rebecca’s note told me to take evidence to police, but Emily remembered, “the car people, not the police first.”
Rebecca had trusted the system in layers.
Some law enforcement.
Not all.
And if she believed someone in local circles was feeding information back to Grant, then every move she made after Friday would have required caution.
Maybe silence.
Maybe disappearance.
Maybe something that looked, from the outside, almost exactly like abandonment.
I should have felt comforted by that possibility.
Instead, I felt angrier.
Because if Rebecca was alive, then somewhere she was believing Emily had been found Friday night like planned.
She had no idea our daughter had spent nearly three days chained in a playhouse because Grant had found the hiding spot before I did.
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And if Rebecca was not alive, then that misunderstanding had cost her the last clear fact she ever held.
Either way, I wanted Grant found.
