CHAPTER 2 — WHAT WAS HIDDEN INSIDE
My heart nearly stopped.
I dropped the package onto the hardwood floor.
Jerry barked wildly, backing away with his fur standing straight up.
The package twitched again.
For three terrifying seconds, neither of us moved.
Then...
A faint sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It wasn't an animal.
It sounded mechanical.
Hands shaking, I carefully cut through the layers of black plastic.
Inside wasn't money.
It wasn't drugs.
It wasn't a weapon.
It was an old metal lockbox wrapped in duct tape.
The tapping grew louder.
Coming from inside.
I pried it open.
A small GPS tracker blinked red.
Still active.
Still transmitting.
Beneath it sat dozens of old Polaroid photographs.
Every picture showed the same young woman.
Each image looked more disturbing than the last.
In one photo she was smiling beside the couch.
In another...
She looked frightened.
In another...
She had bruises on her wrists.
The final photo froze my blood.
Written across the back in black marker were six words:
"If you found this... don't trust him."
Underneath the pictures lay several passports.
Different names.
Same woman's face.
Stacks of cash.
And finally...
A bloodstained journal.
The first page read:
"My husband says no one will ever believe me."
The last page wasn't finished.
Only one sentence.
"If you're reading this... he finally sold the couch..."
At that exact moment...
Someone knocked on my front door.
Three slow knocks.
Then silence.
Jerry exploded into furious barking.
I looked through the peephole.
A man wearing black gloves stood outside smiling.
Holding a receipt.
"The couch," he called calmly.
May you like
"I think it belongs to me."
...
