Chapter 4 - The Storage Unit
The rain had cleared by late afternoon, leaving behind a crisp, biting autumn chill that stung my cheeks as I pulled into the gated entrance of Metro Secure Storage on the industrial outskirts of town.
The flash drive I found in Mark’s office had contained the master access code and unit number: Building C, Unit 214.
With my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, I walked down the long, dimly lit concrete corridor. The air smelled of dust, old cardboard, and rusted metal. I found Unit 214 tucked away in the darkest corner, far from the security cameras mounted near the entrance.
I pulled the keycard from my pocket—one of the duplicate cards I had found stashed inside Mark’s desk drawer—and pressed it against the digital reader.
Click.
The heavy metal rolling door screeched upward, revealing a dark, cramped space lit only by the pale afternoon light filtering through the high corridor windows.
At first glance, it looked like ordinary storage: plastic storage bins, old furniture, and rolled-up rugs. But as I stepped inside and flicked on my phone flashlight, the real purpose of the unit became terrifyingly clear.
Against the back wall sat a row of industrial refrigerators, humming quietly in the silence.
I walked over and pulled open the heavy stainless-steel door of the primary unit. Neatly stacked inside were hundreds of small glass vials, each labeled with biomedical hazard warnings and pharmaceutical serial numbers. Propofol. Enough to put half the city to sleep permanently.
Beside the medical supplies sat a metal filing cabinet. I pulled the drawers open, finding detailed dossiers on local business owners, politicians, and pharmaceutical executives—people Mark and Rachel had been blackmailing for years to fund their lavish lifestyles and high-stakes gambling debts.
And right on top of the pile was a folder with my own name written in Mark’s neat, clinical handwriting: Sarah Miller — Contingency Plan.
I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside were medical documents regarding my life insurance policy, forged signature cards for our joint savings accounts, and a detailed timeline for how they planned to dispose of me after Emma’s "tragic accident" at her birthday party.
They hadn't just planned to frame Malcolm. They had planned to get rid of me, too.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
May you like
A voice echoed sharply from the entrance of the storage unit.
I spun around so fast I dropped my phone, the screen cracking against the concrete floor. Standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit, was Rachel. She wasn't wearing her silk robe anymore; she wore a sharp black pantsuit, and in her right hand, she held a small, black-barreled revolver with casual, chilling ease.
