Page 72 of Behind These Four Walls
Things were suddenly spiraling out of control in ways Isla hadn’t anticipated when the idea to return to Virginia came to mind after Leonard had died. Now, a second person was dead, and another, James, lay in intensive care. Isla blamed herself. If she hadn’t returned bent on uncovering the truth about Eden. If she hadn’t pressured James into reliving that night or pushed Danny into a corner where he thought stopping them by any means necessary was his only way, he would be alive now. And James wouldn’t be in the hospital.
She was in too deep and feeling what little control she’d had was slipping away. But she couldn’t stop now, no matter how scared she was that these people were deadly, or how sore her body was because of the crash. Victor pitied her enough to suggest she put the article on hold until she felt better and things calmed down, but she couldn’t. Isla was on borrowed time. A sense of urgency grew like a snowball careening down a mountain slope that she could be sent away at any moment, losing all access she had to these people and this place. So only a couple of days after the accident, Isla went against doctors’ orders to rest and was back at Jackson’s home. This time, uninvited.
Jackson’s home was bordered by sculpted hedges that wrapped around the house, providing cover as she went around to the side door, away from the street.
Isla approached the side door with purpose, as though she belonged there. Jackson’s nearest neighbor couldn’t be seen. And his high hedges helped hide her as well. Jackson was so arrogant, thinking he was much smarter than everyone else—Victor Corrigan included—that he’d also think no one would have the audacity to enter his home without an invitation. Therefore, his security system would be as basic as he was turning out to be.
It must be difficult to work so closely with Brooke and Victor Corrigan. Isla felt bad for him and imagined having a haven to come home to after dealing with other people’s lives around the clock was helpful. She was glad he lived away from the estate and in his own little world. He probably needed his own space after having to serve at the Corrigans’ leisure all the time. Isla imagined it was the same for Dixon. While Dixon and Jackson basically served Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan as trusted advisers on business and employee decisions, Victor at least respected Dixon, while he acted like Jackson barely existed. Not only was Brooke a nasty piece of work personality-wise, but she was also needy and exhausting. Isla nearly felt sorry for Jackson, but then quickly remembered that she didn’t like him at all.
That made it easier to slink along the bushes and trees that obscured his home from onlookers, as she was now doing. She didn’t have to worry about being recognized like she might have at the estate.
She tugged the hood of her sweatshirt lower over her head to obscure her face as much as possible, just in case. She made her way to the side door and shrugged off her backpack. She popped in one wired earbud that was attached to her phone, unable to use Bluetooth. She let the other bud hang over her chest so she had one ear listening for anything off.
She recalled Rey’s words from his quick history of frequencies and signals and how she was going to block them over the phone the night before. She took out the square frequency jammer. She flipped it on and waited a moment for it to disrupt any Wi-Fi signal Jackson’s security system emitted. She slipped it back in her backpack and took it with her as it stayed on.
For good measure, the jammer was supposed to extend another twenty feet in radius around the home. Rey was too scary with allthe ways he found to access things he shouldn’t. She couldn’t decide whether she felt like a spy or a criminal.
“Wish I’d thought to bring the smart glasses,” she muttered, working the picks in the lock until she heard it disengage.
“Yeah, well, with the jammer on they wouldn’t work like we’d need them to,” Rey answered. “That’s why we’re on wired buds and an old-school cell. If I were there, closer, like when we do usual jobs, I could work in a separate frequency for you to video what you see in there.”
She didn’t argue. She was too nervous to do much talking at all, because this wasn’t like the jobs they took in LA. Those had nothing to do with her. This was different. She entered the home.
Isla moved quickly toward the master bedroom, remembering its location from her previous visit.
“All right, Isla,” Rey said through the earbud, his voice a steady presence in her ear as she entered the bedroom, which was a little messier since this time company was not expected. The bed was rumpled, and there was a discarded dress shirt flung over the back of a chair. A bottle of Armani cologne was uncapped on the glossy black dresser. The ceiling-to-floor blinds were pulled to let the natural light fill the room and revealed a set of sliding glass doors leading out to an expansive backyard.
“When you get to the safe, let me know when you’re at the keypad. From what you sent me of its make and model,” Rey continued, “it seems pretty standard. Look for a panel on it, and slide it to show the keypad.”
Isla found the safe, just as she had the first time she was there interviewing Jackson.
She crouched before the safe, which was tucked snugly under the counter of the built-in minibar in his room. She found the panel as instructed and pressed gently. It slid away to reveal an electronic keypad.
“Okay,” she said.
“Good. Now type in the sequence I gave you. This is a force override that will disable the lock for five minutes. You only have one chance before it locks down, so be fast and be right.”
She let out a quick breath. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the ten numbers. The seconds ticked like an eternity.
“Rey, I don’t think—”
The lock beeped. Then came the blessed sound of the heavy door opening with a vacuum-sealed little whoosh. Isla wasted no time swinging open the door, and the soft dome light cast a bluish glow over what was inside the safe. She did a quick scan of the contents. On the top shelf were stacks of cash that reminded her of a bank vault. Why would he ever need that much cash on hand? The stacks of hundreds and fifties, still crisp from whenever he’d gotten them from the bank, reached the top of the inside. She dug in, feeling around the top shelf and behind the rows of money for anything that might be hidden. Safes almost always contained something the owner didn’t want others to see.
Finding nothing there, she went to the bottom half, which held a wooden box of expensive name-brand jewelry and an array of folders and documents. She listed everything she saw in a fast whisper while Rey commented on what she should or shouldn’t look into.
“You don’t have time to get into those documents and files,” he reminded her when she said she wanted to read through them. She was about to listen to him when the words “Last Will and Testament” leaped out at her.
“It’s his will,” she said, curiosity driving her. She pulled the document out so she could see better, against Rey’s advice. Her heart triple-timed as she read the next line, the words leaping off the page. “It’s not Jackson’s will but Victor’s, unsigned,” she said excitedly. “But get this—it names Bennett as the sole heir to the Corrigan empire and lists him as CEO.”What the hell ...
“Don’t worry so much about that right now,” Rey said. “There’s no way he’s getting Victor to sign that unless he’s got a gun to the man’s head. Also, Jackson would have to get past that guy Dixon too. Not gonna happen. Keep going.”
There was more there referencing Jackson and Brooke as greater shareholders, but with Rey in her ear urging her to hurry, she couldn’t read further like she wanted. Reluctantly, she put the document back,careful to line it up as it was when she’d found it. She resumed her search, feeling around the sides and reaching in all the way to the back. Behind the documents, in the recesses of the safe, was a small rectangular object encased in some kind of plastic.
“Think I got something,” she muttered, grunting softly as her fingertips gripped the object and pulled it toward her. “It’s a recorder. You think he’s recorded someone on here and plans to blackmail them? Maybe it’s Victor, and that’s what he’ll do with the will. This recorder is old school, though, so maybe an old shady business deal?”
“Let’s see.”
She pulled it out, opened the large ziplock bag, and pulled out a Sony recorder she hadn’t seen the likes of for years, not since before the emergence of smartphones and Voice Memos. Isla felt a surge of trepidation and excitement. She didn’t know why, but this find felt like it was going to be game changing, and maybe she’d finally get some solid facts to back up what she’d managed to put together so far. She pressed play.