Chapter 7 - THE HARD DRIVE THEY COULDN’T FIND
California Highway Patrol found the pickup six hours later.
It sat behind a collapsed service station near the desert road.
The driver’s door was open.
Keys remained in the ignition.
No one was inside.
A search team followed footprints into the gravel until wind and vehicle tracks erased them. One set appeared to belong to Chase’s shoes. A second pattern may have come from boots, but the impressions were incomplete.
The blue cooler remained strapped in the truck bed.
Investigators photographed and collected it.
The hidden compartment inside the lid was empty.
A rectangular dust outline showed that something had been stored there recently.
Chase’s blood was later confirmed on the motel bathroom counter. The amount was small, consistent with a cut or nosebleed.
No blood was found in the pickup.
The truck contained my purse.
My wallet remained.
Cash was gone.
Credit cards were still present.
The hardware token was missing.
So was the manila insurance folder.
The black notebook containing sponsor names had been removed.
Police returned essential identification after documenting the purse, but the remaining contents stayed temporarily associated with the investigation.
I requested cancellation of every card.
The insurer froze the key-person policy after receiving my fraud affidavit.
The policy was not paid.
No claim had been filed.
Nora reminded Wade that suspicious preparation was not the same as attempted murder.
He answered, “Tell that to the desert.”
The bank blocked the $640,000 transfer before settlement.
Three Mile Productions’ account was placed under review.
Corporate records showed Brad owned forty percent.
The remaining sixty percent belonged to a Nevada trust administered by Elliot Crane’s brother-in-law.
Elliot denied beneficial ownership.
Northstar’s independent committee began a wider investigation.
The acquisition remained suspended.
Our employees learned through a video call.
I attended with Nora.
Kyle did not.
Brad sent a statement saying counsel advised silence.
The faces on the screen belonged to editors, coordinators, assistants, and sales staff who had spent years turning chaos into income.
Megan, our sponsorship manager, had a baby due in six weeks.
Joel, one of the editors, asked whether health insurance would continue.
I answered honestly.
“We have enough cash for approximately nine weeks if the disputed transfer remains frozen.”
“What happens after that?” he asked.
“We pursue bridge financing, restructure, or wind down.”
“Can Northstar still buy us?”
“Not until ownership and fraud questions are resolved.”
A production assistant began crying.
Kyle had repeatedly told employees the acquisition was guaranteed.
Several had signed apartment leases based on expected bonuses.
His certainty had become their debt.
“I am sorry,” I said.
Joel looked angry.
“Did you know about the dangerous pranks?”
“Some.”
“Did you approve them?”
“Some.”
“Did you know about the girl who died?”
“I knew her father accused us. I accepted Kyle’s denial without investigating enough.”
The call went quiet.
“Then why should we trust you?” Megan asked.
“You should not trust my title. You should review what I do next.”
It was not comforting.
It was the only honest answer.
I proposed placing company accounts under temporary control of an independent restructuring manager. My own authority would be limited along with Kyle’s and Brad’s.
Nora supported it.
Employees elected two representatives to receive weekly financial reports.
Kyle’s attorney objected.
The bank favored independent control and threatened to freeze operations otherwise.
By evening, Mile Marker Media was no longer ours to move casually.
That loss of control felt humiliating.
It was also necessary.
Wade surrendered Marnie’s partial emergency call to investigators.
The recording was difficult to hear.
Wind.
A car alarm.
Marnie crying.
“I’m by marker forty,” she said. “Those guys from the videos are here.”
Wade’s voice answered, frantic.
“Fourteen?”
“Forty.”
The call broke.
Then Marnie whispered, “They’re filming.”
Headlights moved away in the final seconds.
No names.
No faces.
Still, the recording aligned with the production invoices and location evidence.
The county prosecutor agreed to review whether new evidence justified reopening the case.
No promise.
Wade sat beside the motel pool after hearing the news.
“Two years,” he said. “And all it took was them leaving you.”
I did not defend myself.
At 11:30 p.m., a motel employee delivered a package left at the front desk.
No return name.
Inside was the missing black notebook from my purse.
Every page had been photographed and returned.
One new sentence appeared beneath my sponsor list.
YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT THE SHELL COMPANIES. WRONG ABOUT KYLE.
A key was taped to the inside cover.
The number stamped into it was 214.
Nora arranged for police to collect the package.
The key matched a storage facility in Barstow.
Unit 214 was rented to Chase Harper.
Investigators obtained authority to enter after Chase’s unexplained disappearance and the evidence connection.
Inside were camera cases, old computers, release forms, and shelves containing props from five years of Open Road Chaos.
The blue cooler’s rugged drive case sat on a folding table.
Empty.
Beside it was a printed copy of the Northstar acquisition agreement.
The final page bore my forged signature.
A note in Chase’s handwriting said:
THE REAL DRIVE IS WITH THE ONLY PERSON KYLE NEVER SEARCHES.
Below it, one word:
LENA.
I read the note twice.
“I don’t have it,” I said.
Then I remembered the first channel camera.
A small black action camera Kyle gave me after our first successful video.
I kept it in a box at our Denver apartment.
Inside the camera’s protective case was a memory card Brad told me had failed years ago.
I called the building manager.
May you like
Someone had entered the apartment that morning using Kyle’s code.
The action camera was gone.
