Chapter 2 - ten days before the kitchen
Ten days earlier, Sarah Mercer had believed her greatest problem was a missing bank statement.
It arrived every month in a white envelope addressed only to her. The account had been created by her mother before her death and was meant to remain separate from the Mercer family finances.
For six years, Sarah had barely touched it.
The money paid for Emma’s preschool, medical appointments and a small charitable program Sarah managed in her mother’s name.
Then the statements stopped arriving.
At first, David blamed the postal service.
When Sarah tried to access the account online, the password no longer worked.
David blamed a software update.
When she called the bank, the representative said the account’s contact details had been changed three months earlier.
David blamed identity theft.
He had an answer for everything.
That was what frightened her.
“You should let me handle it,” he said that evening.
He stood in the doorway of her home office, still wearing the navy suit he wore to Mercer Development meetings.
Sarah closed her laptop.
“The bank says the request came with my signature.”
“Then someone copied it.”
“They also answered my security questions.”
“People collect information online.”
“The request was delivered in person.”
David paused.
Only for a second.
But Sarah noticed.
“Which branch?” he asked.
“Why does that matter?”
“So I can speak to the manager.”
“I already did.”
His expression tightened.
Sarah had seen that look many times during the previous year. It appeared whenever she made a decision without consulting him.
David crossed the room and placed both hands on her desk.
“You are exhausted. You have been anxious since your mother died, and now you’re seeing conspiracies everywhere.”
“My mother died six years ago.”
“Grief does not have a deadline.”
Neither did manipulation, Sarah thought.
She did not say it aloud.
Instead, she looked at the silver picture frame beside her computer. It showed her mother, Eleanor, standing between Sarah and her father, Richard Hale, at Sarah’s university graduation.
Her parents had divorced years before the picture was taken, yet Eleanor had still trusted Richard with every legal and financial detail of her estate.
David had always resented that.
Richard was a retired forensic auditor who had spent most of his career tracing money hidden behind shell companies.
To David, every question Richard asked was an accusation.
To Richard, every answer David avoided was evidence.
“Do not call your father about this,” David said.
Sarah kept her face still.
“I didn’t say I would.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“You can read my thoughts now?”
“I know you.”
Sarah almost laughed.
David knew what tea she ordered.
He knew which side of the bed she preferred.
He knew she hated being late and that she always checked the front door twice before sleeping.
But he had not noticed that she had begun keeping a second phone inside the lining of her winter coat.
He had not noticed that she photographed every document before leaving it on her desk.
He had not noticed that she had stopped drinking anything Margaret poured for her.
Perhaps David had never known her.
Perhaps he had only studied her habits until he could predict them.
“I won’t call Dad,” Sarah said.
It was technically true.
She had already called him that morning.
David kissed her forehead.
“Good. I’ll fix everything.”
After he left, Sarah waited until she heard the garage door close.
Then she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and removed a plain brown envelope.
Inside was a copy of the signature card used to change the bank account.
The signature looked almost perfect.
Almost.
But Eleanor had taught Sarah to cross the final letter of her surname with a slight upward stroke.
Whoever signed the form had drawn the line downward.
Sarah turned the page over.
There was a faint impression in the paper, as though another document had been written on top of it.
She shaded the surface lightly with a pencil.
A company name appeared.
Northbridge Holdings.
Her second phone vibrated.
A message from Richard appeared.
Do not search that name on your home internet.
Sarah stared at the warning.
Then another message arrived.
And do not confront David. I think he is monitoring you.
A sound came from the hallway.
Sarah quickly returned the documents to the drawer.
David stood outside the office.
He had not left.
He held his car keys in one hand.
May you like
In the other was the small black device Sarah had hidden inside her winter coat.
“What is this?” he asked.
