A Stranger Handed Me a Blue Box at Church and Said, “You’ll Need This Tonight”—I Wish I’d Opened It Sooner

When he came over that afternoon, I showed him the phone and admitted I was scared. He listened, offered help without hesitation, and mentioned casually that Sheriff Brennan—his cousin—had been asking about me at the VFW hall. The sheriff was Raymond’s cousin.

The same sheriff the midnight voice had warned me about. That night, I walked to the wedding tree in darkness and dug with my bare hands until they bled. Between two thick roots, I found a waterproof container wedged deep.

Inside: a USB drive, financial records, and a letter in Blair’s handwriting that began “My dearest Simon, if you’re reading this, I’m gone…”

She’d discovered Amber’s involvement in drug trafficking eighteen months before her death. She’d confronted our daughter, given her a chance to stop, trusted her to do the right thing. Instead, Amber had tried to kill her—twice.

Blair had gone to the FBI. She’d documented everything. I was still processing this—my daughter, my child, the baby I’d raised—when headlights swept across my property.

Multiple vehicles. Voices shouting my name. I ran through redwood forest I’d known for forty years, clutching the evidence Blair had died protecting, until I burst onto an old logging road where a woman sat waiting in a running vehicle.

“Get in,” she commanded. “I’m FBI Agent Andrea Wallace. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

Continue reading…