**Part 2**
A black SUV pulled into the driveway two rows ahead and stopped with its engine running.
I lowered the warehouse door, slid inside, and lowered it even further, so that only a narrow sliver of light remained outside.
Footsteps were slowly approaching the door.
Then, a male voice resonated through the metal:
—Miss Carter? We just want to talk.
I remained silent.
Then another voice rang out, higher-pitched:
– Your mother got you involved in something she shouldn't have been.
With trembling hands, I opened the envelope.
The note was brief.
Emily, if anyone follows you here, don't trust the police, Richard Hale, or anyone at Lawson Financial. Take the red folder and leave through the back fence. I'm sorry.
Richard Hale was my mother's boss for almost nineteen years.
That morning he hugged me at his funeral.
I thanked him for coming.
Something was scraping the lock from the outside.
I opened the box of documents that was at my feet.
Inside there were labeled folders, a USB drive attached to the lid, bank statements, copies of documents, and a red folder full of payment orders and signatures.
And then I saw the back wall.
Part of it was covered with a sheet of plywood.
Behind the plywood was a piece of wire mesh fencing, already cut.
My mother prepared an escape route.
The man outside spoke again:
— Open the section, Emily. Your mother died because she stopped cooperating.
And then I understood everything.
She didn't just die.
Someone organized it.
I grabbed the red folder, pushed aside the plywood, and slipped through the fence. The wire tore my blouse, but I kept going.
Behind me, someone banged loudly on the section door.
I ran through the undergrowth towards the ditch until I reached a service road that led off the main road.
Then the phone vibrated again.
Two new messages from my mother's number.
Go to Daniel Brooks, County Recorder's Office. Don't trust anyone else.
One minute later another one arrived:
**And Emily, if Hale finds you first, burn it all down.**
