Chapter 3 - The Four Women Who Entered the Warehouse—and the Secret Passage Someone Had Removed From the Blueprints
For several seconds, Megan could only stare at the photograph of Rick standing beside the delivery truck.
He wore the same dark jacket he had worn the previous night.
His hair was slightly disheveled.
His face looked exhausted.
But he was smiling.
It was the ordinary, satisfied smile of a man who believed his plans were finally working.
Megan had seen that expression after Rick won arguments.
After he convinced a landlord that she was responsible for their late rent.
After he persuaded a bank employee that she had authorized a transaction she knew nothing about.
And once, after she apologized for something he had done.
Now he was smiling outside a warehouse where four women had disappeared.
"You're certain it's him?" Nicholas asked.
Daniel placed another photograph on the desk.
The second image showed Rick entering through a side door with a clipboard.
"Facial recognition isn't necessary," Daniel replied. "The truck's registration belongs to a company linked to Delaney's old freight brokerage."
Megan looked up.
"Rick doesn't own a freight brokerage."
Daniel glanced at her.
"What does he do?"
"He's a logistics consultant. At least, that's what he told me."
"Who were his clients?"
She tried to remember.
For four years, Rick had spoken about his work in vague phrases.
Shipping schedules.
Contract negotiations.
Troublesome investors.
Once he claimed to be helping a company transport medical equipment.
Another time he said he was negotiating restaurant supply contracts.
Whenever Megan asked for details, he accused her of being suspicious.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Nicholas studied the photograph.
"That was intentional."
Megan hated how easily the conclusion fit.
Rick had hidden his real work behind a thousand small lies.
And she had been too busy surviving their relationship to investigate the truth.
Daniel's telephone vibrated.
He read the message.
"The warehouse is listed under East Providence Development Group. That's a subsidiary of North Channel Holdings."
"The same company that claimed Rick's debt," Nicholas said.
"Yes."
"Find the directors."
"Already working on it."
Nicholas turned to Megan.
"There's something important you need to understand."
She braced herself.
"Your statement could help establish how Rick recruited someone through deception. But I won't ask you to enter that building or confront him."
Megan looked toward the photograph.
"Four women went inside."
"I know."
"Then somebody has to find them."
"Federal investigators should be involved. I'm contacting them."
She frowned.
"Won't that take time?"
"Possibly."
"How much?"
"I don't know."
Megan stood and approached the window.
Outside, the courtyard was washed in bright autumn sunlight.
Everything looked peaceful.
It seemed impossible that less than an hour away, women might be trapped behind locked doors.
"Did you know my father worked on boats?" she asked suddenly.
Nicholas looked puzzled.
"No."
"He repaired engines at the Providence docks. When I was little, he used to take me down to the harbor on Sundays."
She smiled faintly.
"He'd point at the boats and tell me that the water never cared how important anyone thought they were."
Nicholas waited.
"My father died when I was seventeen. After that, my mother worked two jobs. She still helped me get into design school."
"She sounds determined."
"She was."
Megan swallowed.
"She died during my second year. A year later, I met Rick."
Nicholas's expression softened.
"You're not required to explain your life to me."
"I'm explaining why I know that building."
She turned.
"My father once told me the old waterfront warehouses had passages beneath them. Not tunnels like in movies. Maintenance corridors, drainage shafts, and cargo transfer spaces built when the docks operated differently."
Daniel straightened.
"Are you saying there's another exit?"
"I'm saying the building may not be what it appears to be."
Nicholas considered her.
"Do you remember the plans?"
"Not all of them."
"Could you reconstruct enough to help?"
Megan hesitated.
For years, she had avoided thinking about design school.
It reminded her of everything Rick persuaded her to surrender.
But the old part of her mind stirred.
The part that loved measurements.
The part that could see how rooms connected behind walls.
"Give me paper," she said.
Daniel brought a large pad from the library desk.
Megan sat and began drawing.
First she sketched the waterfront road.
Then the warehouse.
The eastern loading bay.
The original brick structure.
The later concrete addition.
Nicholas and Daniel watched without interrupting.
"The building was expanded in the seventies," she explained. "The extension doesn't align with the original structural grid."
Daniel leaned closer.
"What does that tell you?"
"Usually nothing criminal. Just that the owners wanted more space."
She added another line.
"But I remember noticing that the new exterior wall sat almost nine feet beyond the visible interior corridor."
Nicholas frowned.
"Nine feet of what?"
"That's what I asked my professor."
"What did he say?"
"He said the wall contained old mechanical infrastructure."
"Did you believe him?"
"At nineteen? Yes."
"And now?"
Megan drew a narrow rectangle.
"Now I think there's a passage between the walls."
Daniel looked at Nicholas.
"If that's right, they could move people through the building without using the public exits."
Megan continued sketching.
"The passage may connect to the old drainage system. The property backs onto a tidal channel."
Nicholas pointed at the paper.
"Could it reach the water?"
"Possibly."
Daniel stepped away to make a call.
Megan stared at her own drawing.
Her hand remembered the movements before her mind did.
She could almost feel the weight of a drafting pencil.
The satisfaction of a clean line.
The quiet pleasure of solving spatial problems.
Rick had mocked those interests.
He called interior design decorating for rich people.
He said she would never earn enough money to justify her tuition.
He told her the profession was impractical.
Now, standing in a crime lord's library, Megan was using the education he had ridiculed to identify a possible escape route for kidnapped women.
Nicholas watched her expression change.
"What?"
She looked up.
"Nothing."
"Megan."
She gave a small, disbelieving laugh.
"I think this is the first useful thing I've drawn in five years."
His answer was immediate.
"I doubt that."
She looked down.
"Rick didn't."
"Rick's opinion appears to be a remarkably unreliable source of information."
She laughed again.
This time, she could not stop the smile before it arrived.
Nicholas smiled too.
It transformed his face.
For a moment, the severe man across the desk looked unexpectedly young.
Then Daniel returned.
"We have a problem."
Nicholas's smile disappeared.
"What?"
"Professor Edwin Mercer is missing."
Megan stood.
"What do you mean?"
"I contacted the university. He retired six months ago. His former department provided an emergency number, but nobody answered. A neighbor says he left his house two days ago and hasn't returned."
Megan felt the warmth leave her body.
"Maybe he's traveling."
"Possibly," Daniel said.
"But?"
"His car is still in the driveway. His daughter filed a missing-person report yesterday."
Nicholas turned toward the window.
"Someone is cleaning up loose ends."
Megan looked at the sketch.
"He knew about the hidden door."
"And someone may know he knew," Daniel replied.
Nicholas picked up his telephone.
He requested a secure connection with a federal investigator named Lena Ortiz.
While they waited, Megan returned to the drawing.
There had been another detail.
Something the class noticed but never discussed afterward.
A set of steps near the western wall.
A sealed elevator shaft.
A circular metal plate embedded in the floor.
She closed her eyes.
Her professor had stood near that plate.
He had dropped his notebook.
When Megan bent to help, she glimpsed a second architectural drawing beneath the ordinary plans.
The hidden drawing showed a smaller basement.
No.
Not smaller.
Different.
She opened her eyes.
"There were two sets of plans."
Nicholas turned.
"What?"
"Our professor had original drawings. The plans in the public records had been changed."
Daniel stepped closer.
"Can you prove that?"
"Maybe."
"How?"
"Students had to photograph every surveyed building. The department kept copies of our work."
Nicholas looked at Daniel.
"Can you get them?"
Megan shook her head.
"We don't need to break into anything. Alumni can request their archived portfolios."
Daniel nodded.
"Then request yours. I'll help confirm the records are preserved."
Megan retrieved her telephone.
The university website took several minutes to load.
Her old student account was inactive, but the archive request portal accepted her name and graduation status.
She began completing the form.
At the final screen, a message appeared.
ARCHIVED PROJECT MATERIALS AVAILABLE FOR IN-PERSON REVIEW UPON IDENTITY VERIFICATION.
Megan sighed.
"I have to go there."
Nicholas considered the situation.
"Only if you choose to. And not without a safety plan."
"Rick knows where I went to school."
"He does."
"He might be watching."
"Then we can ask the university to preserve the files and arrange secure access through the investigators."
Megan looked at the screen.
"But they need my identification."
"I'll have Daniel coordinate it properly. Nobody should bypass the rules."
She appreciated the distinction.
It was strange to find someone with so much power reluctant to use it carelessly.
Nicholas's telephone rang.
He answered, listened, and then turned on the speaker.
A woman's voice filled the library.
"Bellamy."
"Agent Ortiz."
"I've reviewed the initial photographs. You're telling me four women entered a warehouse owned by an inactive development company?"
"Yes."
"And your security contractor identified a concealed service corridor?"
"A witness identified the possibility."
"Which witness?"
Nicholas looked toward Megan.
She nodded.
"Megan Walsh," he answered. "She's here voluntarily."
A brief pause followed.
"Miss Walsh, are you safe?"
Megan stared at the telephone.
The question felt unexpectedly personal.
"Right now, yes."
"Good. I want to speak with you privately when you're ready. I also want you to know that Mr. Bellamy doesn't get to decide whether you give a statement."
Nicholas said nothing.
Megan almost smiled.
"That sounds fair."
Ortiz continued.
"We've been examining North Channel Holdings for seven months. The company appears repeatedly in reports involving fraudulent debt collection and labor exploitation."
Megan's hands went cold.
"Have you found anyone?"
"We've helped several people leave dangerous employment situations, but the people controlling the network have been difficult to identify."
Nicholas leaned forward.
"I can provide the account records."
"I'll need them preserved in their original form. No alterations, no private searches, and no witnesses being pressured."
"You'll have them."
"And Bellamy?"
"Yes?"
"If this organization has been operating through your businesses, don't mistake cooperation for immunity."
Megan watched Nicholas.
He did not flinch.
"I wouldn't expect immunity."
The call ended with arrangements for federal agents to meet them that afternoon.
Megan sat quietly.
For the first time, the situation felt real in a new way.
There were investigators.
Records.
Witnesses.
An actual process beyond one dangerous man's promise.
But the photographs of the four women remained on the desk.
"Do we have any idea who they are?" she asked.
Daniel opened his tablet.
"We've enlarged the surveillance frames."
He displayed a grainy image.
Four women moved between the loading bay and a narrow door.
One wore a red coat.
One carried a small duffel bag.
The third appeared to be supporting the fourth.
Megan studied their faces.
Then she leaned closer.
The woman in the red coat looked directly toward the camera.
Her expression was terrified.
But there was something else.
Recognition.
Megan had seen her before.
"That woman," she whispered.
Nicholas stepped closer.
"Do you know her?"
"I think so."
"Where?"
Megan searched her memory.
"At the flower shop."
Tessa often hired temporary employees for weddings and holidays.
Over the previous two months, a quiet young woman named Olivia Grant had worked several weekend shifts.
She was twenty-four, soft-spoken, and always wore long sleeves.
She said she was staying with relatives while looking for permanent work.
Three weeks earlier, she stopped arriving.
Tessa believed she'd found another job.
Megan remembered Olivia standing behind the counter, staring at a black sedan across the street.
She had asked whether Megan knew the driver.
Megan said no.
Olivia had looked frightened.
Then she said something odd.
"If anyone asks, I was never here."
Megan pointed at the screen.
"Her name is Olivia Grant."
Daniel wrote it down.
"Address?"
"I don't know. Tessa might."
Nicholas looked at her carefully.
"Did she ever mention Rick?"
Megan closed her eyes.
One afternoon, Rick had entered the flower shop unexpectedly.
Olivia was arranging roses near the back room.
When she heard his voice, she dropped her scissors.
Rick looked toward the sound.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Then Olivia disappeared into the storage room.
Rick asked Megan who she was.
Megan said she was a temporary employee.
He had looked annoyed.
"Don't hire strangers without knowing their background," he told her.
At the time, Megan assumed he was being controlling.
Now she wondered whether Olivia had recognized him.
"Rick saw her once," she said.
"And?"
"She was afraid of him."
Nicholas's face hardened.
Daniel sent Olivia's name to Agent Ortiz.
Twenty minutes later, the agent called back.
"Olivia Grant isn't her legal name."
Megan's stomach dropped.
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Olivia Price. She disappeared from Hartford eleven months ago. Her family believed she'd taken a job overseas."
Nicholas stood.
"Was that voluntary?"
"We don't believe so."
Megan looked at the red coat.
"She came to our shop because she was trying to hide."
"That's possible," Ortiz replied. "Miss Walsh, I need you to tell me everything you remember."
Megan described the weekends Olivia worked.
The black sedan.
The moment Rick entered.
The dropped scissors.
The whispered request not to tell anyone she had been there.
Ortiz listened carefully.
Then she asked a question that made Megan's skin prickle.
"Did Olivia ever give you anything?"
Megan frowned.
"No."
"Think carefully."
There had been a Saturday.
Rain against the windows.
A sudden rush of customers.
Olivia had offered to wrap an expensive ceramic vase for delivery.
Megan remembered her hands shaking.
Later, a folded receipt appeared in Megan's apron pocket.
At the time, she assumed it was a forgotten order.
She had slipped it into her notebook.
The notebook was still in her old room above the bakery.
Megan told Ortiz.
"Do you still have it?"
"I think so."
"Don't return there alone."
"I won't."
Nicholas looked toward Daniel.
"Can we arrange access through the building manager and have agents retrieve it?"
Ortiz answered before Daniel could.
"We'll coordinate with Miss Walsh. It's her property."
Megan felt strangely relieved by that small correction.
People were beginning to treat her belongings and decisions as things that mattered.
The agent continued.
"There's something else. Our team has located a possible secondary exit from the warehouse. We're preparing a search operation."
Megan looked at her drawing.
"Near the tidal channel?"
"Yes."
"Then check the old pump station," she said quickly.
A silence followed.
"What pump station?"
Megan remembered a rusted structure shown in the campus survey.
"It was north of the warehouse, near the seawall. The exterior looked abandoned, but the old underground corridor may connect to it."
Ortiz asked her to mark the location on the sketch.
Daniel photographed it and transmitted the image through the secure channel.
An hour later, the federal search team entered the warehouse with a warrant.
Megan remained in the library.
She heard fragments of updates through Daniel's telephone.
Ground floor clear.
Loading bay empty.
No occupants on the second level.
Evidence of recent activity.
Then came a long silence.
Megan stared at the clock.
At last, Daniel's telephone crackled.
"Secondary passage located."
She closed her eyes.
"Door is reinforced. We're bringing equipment."
Another silence.
Then shouting.
A heavy metallic crash.
Someone called for medical support.
Nicholas stood motionless beside the desk.
Finally a voice announced, "One adult female recovered. Conscious. Three others unaccounted for."
Megan pressed her hands to her mouth.
"Olivia?" she whispered.
Daniel asked for identification.
The answer came a moment later.
"Female has dark hair, approximately thirty. Wearing a blue sweater."
Not Olivia.
One woman had been found.
Three remained missing.
Megan's relief collapsed into dread.
The recovered woman was transported to a hospital.
Before leaving the building, one of the agents photographed a message scratched into the plaster wall near the underground passage.
It had been carved hurriedly.
Uneven letters.
A desperate warning.
Daniel enlarged the image for Nicholas and Megan.
The message contained only six words.
THE LIGHTHOUSE IS NOT THE EXIT.
Underneath was a name.
MEGAN WALSH.
Megan stared at it.
One of the missing women had written her name on the wall.
Someone she had never met.
Someone who knew she had been brought to Bellamy's mansion.
May you like
And beneath the writing, almost hidden in the damaged plaster, was a second message.
DON'T TRUST THE MAN WHO KNOWS THE HOUSE.
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