Chapter 6 - The Burner Phone
I sat shivering on a hard metal bench inside a freezing, windowless holding cell for six agonizing hours.
The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed loudly above my head, making my terrible headache feel significantly worse.
I had used my single legally mandated phone call to dial a number I had found scribbled inside Grandma's commercial ledger.
It was the direct line to a gritty, independent probate attorney named Marcus, who supposedly handled all her private affairs.
Just as I was beginning to lose all hope, a heavy steel door clanked open, and a tired guard called my name.
I walked out to the front desk and saw a tall, sharp-eyed man in a wrinkled suit arguing fiercely with the desk sergeant.
Marcus had successfully posted my exorbitant bail, leveraging a legal loophole regarding the hastily forged bank transfer documents.
We walked out into the freezing night air in total silence, the icy wind biting through my thin black funeral dress.
We got into his messy, heavily dented sedan, and he immediately locked the doors before turning on the heater.
Marcus handed me a steaming cup of bad gas station coffee and looked at me with an incredibly serious expression.
He revealed that he had known Grandma Shirley very well, and she had secretly hired him months ago to investigate Brenda.
Grandma had strongly suspected that her own daughter was working with the corporate developers to steal the family fortune.
Marcus reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a cheap, plastic prepaid burner phone.
He placed the small device gently into my hands, explaining that Grandma had left it with him for safekeeping.
She had explicitly instructed Marcus to give me this exact phone if anything highly suspicious happened after her death.
My hands shook violently as I pressed the small power button, waiting for the bright screen to slowly illuminate in the dark car.
The phone had no contacts, no call history, and only a single unread text message waiting in the inbox.
I opened the message, my heart pounding fiercely against my ribs as I recognized Grandma's unique texting style.
The timestamp on the message showed it was sent on the exact night she supposedly passed away in her sleep.
May you like
I read the words over and over again, feeling a terrifying chill settle deep into my bones.
The message stated clearly that her heart medication had been tampered with, and the real killer was still hiding inside the house.
