Chapter 3 - The Ozarks Discovery
While I remained under heavy police guard at St. Mary’s, a tactical team from the Missouri State Highway Patrol and the FBI arrived at our family's secluded cabin in the Ozarks.
The cabin sat at the end of a long, gravel road, surrounded by dense pine woods and overlooking the icy waters of the lake. The front porch was covered in dead leaves, untouched for months.
Agent Vance’s voice came through the comms as the SWAT team stacked up against the front door. "Breach on three. One... two... three!"
BOOM!
The heavy wooden door splintered inward. "FBI! Nobody move!"
The cabin was silent, smelling heavily of damp wood, dust, and decay. The furniture was covered in plastic tarps. In the living room, a half-empty mug of coffee sat on the coffee table, dried to a dark crust—a remnant from six months ago.
"Clear living room!" "Clear kitchen!"
"Agent Vance! In the cellar! We found something!"
Vance hurried down the narrow wooden stairs into the damp, concrete basement. The smell of copper and earth hung heavy in the air.
In the far corner, hidden behind a wall of stacked firewood, sat a heavy steel trunk, locked with a padlocked chain. A forensic technician stepped forward with bolt cutters, snapping the chain with a loud CLANG.
They lifted the lid.
Inside lay a collection of personal items: Ethan’s real wedding ring, his driver’s license, his acoustic guitar, and a stack of journal entries written in Ethan's neat cursive handwriting. But beneath the tray of belongings sat a locked steel cash box containing an encrypted hard drive and a hand-drawn map of our house in St. Louis.
"Sir!" a deputy called out from the back of the property near the dock. "Over here!"
Vance ran out toward the lake. At the edge of the water, buried beneath two feet of mud and heavy rocks near the shoreline, was a submerged aluminum boat.
Inside the boat was a shallow grave.
Forensic team members carefully brushed away the dirt, revealing human remains preserved by the icy water. Around the neck of the skeleton was a silver chain holding a medallion—the exact Saint Christopher medal I had given Ethan on our second anniversary.
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Agent Vance stood on the bank, watching the crime scene technicians take photos. He picked up his phone and dialed the hospital liaison.
"Tell Sarah we found Ethan," Vance said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "He didn't abandon her. He was murdered six months ago. Julian killed him at the cabin, buried him in the lake, and walked into his life."
