The Truth Buried Deep Inside My Father’s Empty New Jersey Coffin
We were in a gravel parking lot behind the main warehouse, surrounded by thick pine trees.
My SUV was parked fifty yards away, hidden in the shadow of a generator shed.
“Can you make it?” I asked Mara.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said, her teeth chattering.
We ran across the gravel, the rain blinding us.
I unlocked the doors with the remote, and we scrambled inside, slamming the doors behind us.
I started the engine, the headlights cutting through the sheets of rain.
I threw the vehicle into reverse, spraying gravel as I backed out of the enclosure.
As we pulled onto the main access road, my phone buzzed in the center console.
The screen lit up with an unknown number.
I reached down and swiped the screen, putting it on speaker.
“Natalie,” a voice said.
It was Voss.
“Your father was a brilliant man,” Voss said, his voice calm over the static. “But he was weak. I hope you aren’t planning on making the same mistakes.”
I didn’t answer.
“I know where you are going,” Voss said. “The old house won’t save you.”