Page 56 of Beneath the Surface

“You okay?” Dax asked quietly.

“Fine.” The word was clipped.

She wasn’t fine. But she also wasn’t going to let him comfort her. Not after this morning.

The woman returned. “Everything checks out. I’ll need to see identification.”

Quinn handed over her driver’s license. The woman led them through the security door to a room lined with safe deposit boxes.

“Box 247 is right here.” She used her key first, then Quinn used hers. The lock clicked, loud in the quiet room. “I’ll give you privacy. Just let me know when you’re finished.”

The door closed with a soft click.

Dax locked it behind her. Quinn stared at the box.

“My father touched this,” she said quietly. “He was the last person to open it.”

Dax moved to stand beside her—not touching, but close. “Whatever’s in here, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Quinn glanced at him, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Will we? Deal with it together?”

The question had layers. She wasn’t just asking about the evidence.

Dax wanted to say yes. Wanted to promise her partnership and support and something more. But the words wouldn’t come.

Quinn’s expression hardened. “Right. Professional distance.” She reached for the box lid. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She lifted it. Inside were folders. Bank statements. Property deeds. Photographs. And a small envelope with a brass key.

Quinn pulled out the first folder, papers rustling. Her breath caught.

“What is it?” Dax moved closer—too close. His arm brushed hers, sending electricity through him. He stepped back quickly.

Quinn noticed. Her jaw tightened. “Bank statements. Look at the transactions.”

Dax leaned in—keeping careful distance this time—and examined the documents. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Monthly transfers.”

They went through everything methodically. Each folder revealing another layer of Wheeler’s crimes. Quinn’s father had been thorough. Meticulous.

“Your father was building a RICO case,” Dax said, impressed. “This isn’t just fraud. This is organized crime.”

Quinn pulled out the small envelope. Inside was a brass key with a tag. “Storage Unit 127, SecureSpace Seattle.”

“There’s more,” Dax said. “He didn’t put everything in the safe deposit box.”

At the bottom was a handwritten note. Quinn unfolded it with trembling hands.

Quinn— If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it. I’m sorry. The storage unit has what really matters. Be careful. Wheeler’s dangerous. Trust no one except people you know are clean. Stay safe. —Dad

Quinn’s tears fell onto the paper. Her whole body shook.

Dax’s hand moved toward her shoulder—stopped himself. “Quinn...”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp. “Don’t touch me and then pull away. Don’t look at me like you care and then remind me we need to stay professional. Just...don’t.”

She wiped her eyes roughly, tucking the note into her bag. Started packing up the evidence with shaking hands.

“We need to get this back to Blackridge,” she said, her voice brittle. “Analyze what we have. Make sure it’s secure.”