7. Rowan
ROWAN
Erik's car is waiting outside his estate at eight the next morning to move me somewhere he considers secure, and I refuse to get into it.
"I'm seeing Mom and Callie first." I stand in the front hall with my bag over one shoulder.
The photograph Makari showed us yesterday remains too easy to picture.
Rahil stood across from Fenwick Hall and watched the security operative taking his photograph.
"After that, we can argue about where I sleep. "
Erik stands near the open library doors. "They have a team outside the house."
"That isn't the same as me seeing them."
"No." He looks at Makari instead of spending another five minutes losing the same argument. "You go with her. Take another operator."
I shift my bag higher. "I didn't agree to an escort."
"You agreed to protection." Erik steps aside, leaving the front door clear. "You can argue about the wording in the car."
Makari's SUV gets us to the Bennett house twenty minutes later. A younger Danilov operator rides in front with him while I spend most of the drive checking messages from Callie and Mom. Both insist they're fine, which isn't a useful measure of anything in my family.
The house looks ordinary when we arrive. Mom's curtains are open, Callie's car is in the drive, and two dark security vehicles sit far enough down the street to pretend they belong to neighbors. Makari circles once before parking.
Harper's car is already at the curb.
Makari looks at it, then at me. "Did you invite her?"
"I told her where I was going."
He frowns. "That wasn't my question."
"It was the useful answer."
Harper gets out before we reach the front walk with her laptop bag over one shoulder. "Nobody invited me, if that helps."
"It doesn't." Makari starts toward the house.
Harper falls into step beside him and catches sight of the holster under his jacket. "Foundation security directors usually carry like that?"
Makari keeps walking. "The honest answer is above your clearance."
"I don't have clearance."
He reaches the porch first and checks the street before looking back at her. "That's part of the problem. The useful answer is that I'm very good at my job."
Harper turns to me. "I dislike him."
Makari opens the screen door. "That will save us time."
Mom opens the front door before I can use my key and pulls me into the house hard enough that my bag gets trapped between us. "I saw the news. They said a body was found at his house."
"I'm fine." I get both arms around her before she can decide whether to believe me. "Aaron Whitaker is dead."
Mom releases me slowly. "Aaron from the university?"
"Yes." I barely finish before Callie appears from the kitchen in sweatpants and one of Dad's old Blackthorne shirts.
"You found him?" She crosses the room and hugs me before I answer.
"I did." I wait until she lets go first.
Makari remains near the front door while Harper closes it behind us. I take Mom into the kitchen because every difficult conversation in this family ends there. Callie follows. Harper sits near the refrigerator, while Makari stays in the doorway where he can hear us without pretending otherwise.
I tell them about Aaron's calls, Dad's phone, the encrypted folder, and Rahil watching me from across campus. When I finish, Mom turns toward the sink and braces against the counter before facing us again.
"Your father asked me to keep something."
Callie looks between us. "What did he ask you to keep?"
Mom walks to the drawer beside the refrigerator and pulls it open. Batteries roll against a stack of takeout menus when she moves birthday candles and an old Blackthorne magnet. A small brass key lies beneath them on a white plastic tag marked 214 in Dad's block print.
"He gave me this four months before the accident." Mom puts the key on the table and takes the chair across from me.
I sit too. "Did he tell you what it opened?"
"No. I asked once, and he said it was work he didn't want at the office." Mom looks at the key. "I didn't ask again."
Callie pulls out the chair beside her. "Did he say anything else?"
Mom rubs one thumb over the edge of the table instead of reaching for the key. "He changed during those last four months. He left for work before six, took calls outside, and stayed up with papers he put away when I came into the room. I thought he was worried about layoffs."
"Dad didn't talk about work at home." Callie sits beside her.
"He stopped talking about anything he thought might worry us." Mom finally looks at me. "He asked me to keep one key. I put it beside batteries and takeout menus, then never asked another question. Eighteen months later, I still don't know what I was protecting."
"You did what he asked."
Mom draws her arm closer when I reach toward her. "That doesn't make it better."
Callie takes the key from the table and holds it toward me. "You should have it." I accept it, but she keeps two fingers on the tag. "You also need to stop deciding what everybody else can handle."
I look at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means you decide what I can know, what Mom can hear, and who gets to talk to me." Callie releases the key and leans back. "You call it protecting us because you're the one doing it."
After four days of telling Erik that protection doesn't become permission because he's worried, I don't have much room to defend myself.
Callie sees that too. "I'm not saying you're him. I'm saying you both make decisions before anybody else gets a vote."
Harper studies her laptop with suspicious concentration.
"You're nineteen." I put the key in my pocket and immediately regret the argument.
Callie gives me a look. "That wasn't your strongest one."
"No, it wasn't."
Mom closes the drawer. "What are you going to do with the key?"
Makari comes farther into the kitchen. "We identify the facility first."
I turn toward him. "We?"
"If it opens a storage unit, I'm going with you." He takes out his phone. "That part isn't negotiable while Rahil is following you."
Harper gets to her feet and shoulders her bag. "That makes four."
Makari looks at her. "That makes three plus an unnecessary law student."
"She has the address tools." I pull out my phone. "Harper can search Dad's old cards for recurring storage charges. I'll check bank statements."
Harper opens her laptop again. "I'm useful when properly appreciated."
Makari moves to the end of the table. "Nobody has established that."
Ten minutes later, Harper finds a monthly charge from Ashford Route 9 Storage. The unit number matches the tag.
The storage facility sits behind a tire shop off Route 9, with two rows of metal buildings and a keypad gate that actually works.
Makari keeps Harper and me in the SUV while the younger operator walks the perimeter.
He returns six minutes later with no visible vehicles, no damaged locks, and one camera over the office entrance.
Makari looks at me before opening his door. "You stay beside me."
"I can do that." I reach for my bag.
Harper picks up hers. "I would like that agreement entered into evidence."
Makari gets out. "You're becoming less useful."
Unit 214 is in the back row. Dad's key opens the padlock on the first turn, and I stand in front of the closed roll-up door for several seconds. Dad rented this place and paid for it every month without telling any of us it existed.
Makari takes one side of the door while the younger operator takes the other. "You should open it when you're ready."
I lift the door and stay at the threshold while they check the rear corners. Metal shelving lines both walls. Four banker's boxes sit beneath a folding table, with two athletic-department ledgers stacked beside them.
I recognize Dad's handwriting before I step inside.
After Makari signals that we're clear, I photograph the unit from the threshold. The first ledger covers athletic transfers from the year before Dad died. The second is older. Both have colored tabs in Dad's handwriting, with amounts circled beside vendor names.
Harper waits until I photograph the seal on one banker's box before opening it. A yellow legal pad lies on top of invoice copies. She studies the first sheet. "Aaron wrote these."
His handwriting covers the page with dates, abbreviated accounts, and arrows connecting charges that shouldn't share a route.
I photograph it without removing the pad. "He was working with Dad."
"Maybe." Harper turns the pad enough to read the next page. "He could've found Dad's work later. We don't know the timing yet."
"You're ruining my dramatic conclusion."
"That's what you pay me for."
"I don't pay you."
Harper looks toward me. "That explains the benefits."
Makari moves to the folding table and lifts a clear document sleeve by one corner. "Rowan, you need to photograph this."
Richard Caldwell stands in the donor-event picture beside Orell Zaitsev. A Blackthorne Leadership Fund banner hangs behind them, and the printed date is eleven months before Dad died.
I take three photographs before lowering my phone. "Richard told Erik he needed board approval before the investigation left university channels."
Harper checks the date. "This proves Richard and Orell attended the same event. It doesn't prove Richard knew what Orell was doing."
"I know."
Makari checks the open doorway again. "Document what matters, then we leave. We're not staying longer than we have to."
The younger operator appears at the entrance before any of us move. "A gray Tahoe came through the gate on a valid code. Three men are inside."
Makari moves between us and the doorway. I set my phone on the folding table with the camera still open.
Rahil steps into view beyond the unit. He has changed clothes since Fenwick, but I recognize him immediately. Two men spread several yards apart behind him. None of them hurries.
Makari keeps himself between Rahil and me. "Rowan, I need you behind the shelving."
This isn't the time to argue about phrasing. I back up while Rahil stops six feet outside the unit and looks past Makari.
"Ms. Bennett, you have property that belongs to my employer."