Chapter 17 - The Room Above the Garage
Police did not find Judson dangerous in the immediate physical sense.
But Naomi insisted Merritt not visit the Bristol house without notice.
Detective Brooks arranged for Merritt to retrieve personal documents while Judson was away meeting counsel.
Blythe met them at the door.
She looked exhausted.
“Your father moved some boxes.”
“Where?”
“The room above the garage.”
Merritt remembered the room.
Judson’s unofficial archive.
Tax files.
Old business contracts.
Christmas decorations.
The place every family had been told not to touch.
Brooks said, “You can retrieve property that is yours. We are not conducting a search.”
Merritt nodded.
She was there for childhood documents, college records, and a locked case containing old family financial papers.
But when they reached the room above the garage, the lock on Merritt’s case had been cut.
She stared.
“That was locked.”
Blythe looked away.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Inside, several folders were missing.
“Dad took them?”
“I assume.”
Brooks said, “What was inside?”
“Records from when I paid the lien. Copies of wire instructions. The deed paperwork.”
Merritt searched.
The recorded deed copy remained.
The transfer records did not.
Then she saw a cardboard banker’s box labeled MERRITT.
Her stomach tightened.
“What is that?”
Blythe said nothing.
Merritt opened it.
Tax returns.
Old pay stubs.
Photocopies of checks.
Copies of her driver’s license.
Her first apartment lease.
A passport copy.
Student-loan statements.
Credit reports.
Some documents were fifteen years old.
Merritt turned toward Blythe.
“Why does Dad have this?”
Blythe’s face had gone pale.
“He handled family records.”
“These aren’t family records.”
She lifted a credit report.
“This was pulled two years ago.”
Blythe swallowed.
Merritt stared.
“Did he run my credit?”
“I don’t know.”
Brooks stepped closer.
“Don’t remove anything yet.”
Merritt’s hands shook.
Another folder contained loan applications.
Not completed.
Drafts.
Several listed Merritt as guarantor.
Her income.
Her employer.
Her address.
One even listed an estimated net worth.
Merritt felt physically ill.
“He was preparing to use me for loans.”
Blythe whispered, “I never saw those.”
“Do you expect me to believe you?”
“Yes.”
The desperation sounded real.
Merritt wanted not to care.
Instead she cared painfully.
Because even betrayal had categories.
Blythe had forged Merritt’s authorization.
But perhaps Judson had planned further uses neither woman knew.
Brooks photographed the box without disturbing contents and contacted investigators.
Merritt sat on an old wooden chair.
Sloan arrived unexpectedly twenty minutes later.
She had come after Blythe texted.
“What happened?”
Merritt pointed at the box.
Sloan looked inside.
Her face changed.
Then she walked to the back wall.
“There should be another one.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Merritt asked.
“When we were teenagers, Dad had boxes with both our names.”
Sloan moved a stack of holiday decorations.
Behind them sat another banker’s box.
SLOAN.
Inside were similar records.
Copies of identification.
Financial statements.
Unsigned loan drafts.
Sloan sank to the floor.
“He was going to use me too.”
Merritt looked at her sister.
For one raw second, neither was favored.
Neither was strong.
Neither was difficult.
They were simply two daughters whose father had cataloged their financial identities like tools.
Blythe covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know.”
Merritt believed her this time.
That did not erase what Blythe had done.
But it changed the shape of the truth.
Sloan pulled out an old credit report.
“Why would he have this?”
Merritt said, “Because he planned for emergencies.”
Sloan looked confused.
Merritt stared at the boxes.
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“We were the emergency fund.”
Behind them, Blythe began to cry.
