Chapter 1: The Last Thing He Said Before He Left Me There
"If you ask about that trust one more time, I swear you'll regret ever being born."
That was the last thing I heard from my father before I woke up lying behind a supermarket, barefoot, with my clothes torn and my body so badly b@ttered that I could barely breathe.
My name is Savannah Croft.
I was thirty-four years old, and until that night, I was convinced that no matter how difficult my family was, they would never be capable of doing something like this to me.
The cold pavement pressed against my back.
Garbage bags were piled beside a wall, and delivery trucks passed in the distance.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain sh0t through my ribs.
I brought my hand to my face and felt dried bl00d near my eyebrow.
I had no bag.
No phone.
No purse.
I wasn't even wearing shoes.
For a few seconds, I thought I had been r0bbed.
Then I remembered.
My father Douglas Croft's office in Minneapolis.
The blue folder I had placed on his desk.
His expression changing when I asked him about several transfers from the trust my grandparents had created for their children and grandchildren.
My mother, Beatrice, walking in and closing the door.
Then came the beating.
And the worst part wasn't the blows.
The worst part was remembering my mother with her phone in her hand.
Recording.
Laughing.
"Look at you," she said while I tried to cover myself.
"You always make a drama out of everything."
I opened my eyes again in that alley and recognized the place.
I was behind an old supermarket in Saint Paul, several kilometers from my parents' house.
There was no way I could have gotten there on my own.
They took me there.
They left me there.
And if they had taken my phone, identification, and even my shoes, it wasn't to "teach me a lesson." It was to delay any chance I had of getting help.
A car stopped nearby.
I backed away in fear until an older man stepped out and raised his hands.
"Miss, don't move.
I'm going to call an ambulance."
His name was Walter Higgins.
He worked as a night watchman at a nearby warehouse.
He took off his jacket and covered me with it while calling for help.
I woke up in a hospital almost fourteen hours later.
I had three fr@ctured ribs, a cheekbone inj*ry, a concussion, br*ises, and hyp0thermia.
On the fourth day, two officers arrived.
I told them everything.
Detective Miller closed her notebook.
"Savannah, your parents gave a very different version."
According to them, I had suffered a breakdown, att@cked my father first, and then run away.
They claimed they had no idea how I ended up inj*red.
They weren't sorry.
They were building a story that would turn them into the victims.
"Also," Detective Miller added, "they've already started calling relatives and acquaintances, telling them you're unstable."
That was when I realized they hadn't just tried to destroy my body.
They were also trying to destroy my credibility.
And I still had no idea how far they would go to protect the secret hidden inside that folder.
I couldn't believe what I was about to discover…
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Douglas and Beatrice think they've won — but Savannah still has that blue folder.
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What do you think is inside it?
Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2.
