Chapter 3 - The Letter Sarah Wrote To Me
I read Sarah’s letter at the police station the next morning.
They gave me a copy after the original was documented.
Her handwriting.
Same narrow slant from our marriage.
Michael,
If you are reading this before I have talked to you myself, something went wrong.
I stopped.
Detective Ortiz sat across.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I continued.
I need you to understand why I did not tell you sooner.
Jason has been using your name.
Not casually.
Not once.
He has created contracts, invoices, and communications that make it appear you have been doing private restoration work through companies connected to him.
I looked up.
“I own a construction management company.”
“What name?”
“Carter Built Management.”
“Do you personally do restoration claims?”
“No.”
Sarah’s letter continued.
I found vendor payments under a company called Carter Recovery Partners.
The registered contact information points toward you, but I do not believe you created it.
My stomach turned.
There was no Carter Recovery Partners.
Then:
Jason has copies of your contractor license information, old tax records, and signatures from our divorce and custody files.
I realized too late that I kept copies in the home office.
That was Sarah.
Guilt even in evidence.
Then:
He told me if I went to you, you would come here angry.
He said that was exactly what he needed.
I stopped.
The backyard.
Me climbing fence.
Breaking lock.
Shoving Jason.
Exactly.
Then:
He has been saving your angry texts from our divorce and editing screenshots so recent conversations look worse.
I whispered:
“What angry texts?”
Ortiz said:
“We’ll compare.”
Four years earlier, during divorce, I had written:
If you keep canceling my time, I’ll come get Emily myself.
Another:
You cannot shut me out of my daughter’s life.
Angry.
Not threats of harm.
But cropped and redated, they could look different.
Sarah:
Two weeks ago I found a folder labeled MC.
It contains printed messages, copies of your signature, and a draft statement describing you as unstable and obsessed with me.
Jason told someone on phone that if “she runs,” everyone will blame the ex husband.
I did not hear enough to know who.
My hands shook.
Then the line Emily meant.
I hid this box from you because I know you.
You would confront him.
You would think protecting Emily meant coming through the front door.
And Jason is counting on that.
I closed eyes.
Sarah knew.
Not maliciously.
Accurately.
Then:
I am trying to get enough evidence to an attorney and a financial investigator before I move Emily out.
I should have told you sooner.
I should have listened when Emily asked for extra nights.
That was my failure.
I felt sick.
Then:
If I cannot finish this, believe Emily before you believe anything Jason says about me, you, or why I left.
At bottom:
The blue key opens the pool box.
The silver key is somewhere else.
I looked at Ortiz.
“Silver key?”
“We only recovered blue.”
Then last paragraph:
Do not let Emily search for it.
If she knows where I put it, Jason may realize I involved her.
I never meant to involve her.
I am sorry.
Sarah.
I lowered paper.
“What is Carter Recovery Partners?”
Ortiz had already looked.
“LLC formed eight months ago.”
“By who?”
“Registered agent service.”
“Address?”
“Mailbox in Colorado Springs.”
“Owner?”
“Records are being subpoenaed.”
Then:
“Payments?”
“We found copies in pool.”
Jason’s company, Vale Restoration Services, handled insurance related home repairs after floods, fires, storm damage.
He subcontracted work.
Carter Recovery Partners appeared on dozens of invoices.
Over seven months:
$1.14 million billed.
Some insurer funded.
Some private.
Where did money go?
Unknown yet.
My name appeared on W9 copies.
My contractor license number.
My old signature.
Even an email address:
Not mine.
Then Ortiz showed printed email.
From fake me to Jason.
Need another draw before Friday. Sarah doesn’t know.
I stared.
“Fake.”
“Can you prove?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t write like that. Also I was in Phoenix date.”
Ortiz nodded.
“We’ll use server logs and travel records, not style.”
Correct.
Then:
“Did Sarah know your social security number?”
“We were married ten years.”
“Tax records?”
“Yes.”
“Did Jason have access?”
“If he accessed old filing cabinet.”
Then divorce.
Did Sarah intentionally give?
No evidence.
She wrote she did not.
Then Ortiz said:
“We recovered laptop from one pool bag. It’s badly water damaged but storage may be recoverable.”
“What else?”
“Files.”
“Any sign Sarah in bags?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
“Testing.”
I hated.
Then:
“Did Jason say where Sarah is?”
“He requested lawyer.”
No more.
Then Emily’s forensic interview.
I was not present.
Later, investigators gave limited summary.
Friday evening:
Sarah and Jason argued in kitchen.
Sarah told Emily to go upstairs.
Emily heard:
“You forged Michael’s name.”
Then Jason:
“He won’t matter once this is done.”
Emily came hallway.
Sarah told:
“Room now.”
Later, Emily heard something fall.
She opened door.
Saw Jason pulling Sarah by arm toward back door.
Sarah was walking, resisting.
Not unconscious.
She said:
“Emily, lock your door.”
Jason saw child.
He said:
“Go inside.”
Emily ran.
About twenty minutes later, Jason returned without Sarah.
He took Emily’s phone.
Locked exterior doors.
Later that night, he moved Emily into backyard enclosure after she tried to use landline.
Why enclosure?
Jason said in preliminary statement through attorney later that Emily was “violent and destructive.”
No evidence.
Emily said she kicked door because she wanted Mom.
Then Saturday, Jason carried bags to pool.
Sunday, I arrived.
This meant Sarah left property alive Friday night.
With Jason.
Vehicle?
His SUV was seen in driveway Sunday.
Sarah’s sedan missing.
Jason could have driven hers.
Then Ortiz said:
“Traffic camera captured Sarah’s vehicle Friday at 8:13 p.m.”
“Who driving?”
“Image poor.”
“Direction?”
“South.”
“Where?”
“Toward Highway 85.”
Then:
“Phone?”
“Sarah’s primary phone shut off 7:46.”
“Jason?”
“His phone remained at home.”
Convenient.
Maybe left.
Then another device?
We needed.
The lockbox phone had one scheduled text draft unsent.
If you open this, check Vale property list, Orchard 17.
Ortiz looked at me.
“Does Orchard mean anything?”
“No.”
Police searched Jason’s property records.
There was no Orchard 17.
But one of his shell companies owned a vacant restoration warehouse on Orchard Road.
Number 17B.
Twenty six miles south.
Officers went.
The building was empty.
But Sarah had been there.
Her scarf.
A broken bracelet.
And a chair with plastic ties on the floor.
No Sarah.
Then security camera from gas station two miles away showed her sedan leaving at 11:02 p.m.
This time driver visible.
Jason.
Alone.
May you like
My ex wife had disappeared between a house and an empty warehouse.
And Jason had spent the next two days trying to make sure everyone looked at me.
