Chapter 6
I read the note twice.
Then a third time.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT.
Maya took it from my hand.
“Don’t touch anything else.”
Dad moved toward the window.
The street looked normal.
A woman walking a dog.
A delivery truck two houses down.
A teenager riding a bicycle.
No Ryan.
No Linda.
“Could Ryan have brought it?” I asked.
Dad shook his head.
“We left them at the house less than thirty minutes ago.”
“He could’ve sent someone.”
Maya looked at the earrings.
“Or whoever holds his debt could have.”
That possibility made my stomach turn.
“Why would someone he owes money to return valuable jewelry?”
“Maybe these weren’t payment.”
“What were they?”
“A message.”
I looked at the note.
Plan B.
The words on Ryan’s spreadsheet flashed through my mind.
If Emma refuses to leave:
USE PLAN B.
I grabbed the laptop.
Maya tried to stop me.
“Emma.”
“I need to know.”
“We need to preserve everything properly.”
“Copy it first.”
She did.
Then we opened the flash drive again.
We searched every folder for “Plan B.”
Nothing.
“Try B,” Dad said.
Hundreds of results.
Nothing useful.
Maya searched dates.
Then file creation times.
One document stood out.
It had been deleted but not fully erased.
She recovered part of it.
The title read:
CONTINGENCY.
Most of the text was corrupted.
But a few lines remained.
…reputation damage…
…company concern…
…medical instability narrative…
…Linda witness…
My blood ran cold.
“Medical instability?”
Maya looked at me.
“Has Ryan ever accused you of being unstable?”
I thought back.
Arguments.
Little comments.
“You’re emotional.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You need to calm down.”
Nothing serious.
Then I remembered.
Three months earlier.
Ryan had suggested therapy.
Not because I was struggling.
Because, according to him, I had become “obsessed with work.”
He pushed hard.
He found the therapist.
He insisted I go alone.
I went twice.
Both sessions felt strange.
The therapist kept asking whether I suffered from paranoia.
Whether I believed people were conspiring against me.
Whether I had sudden anger.
I stopped going.
“Ryan arranged therapy for me.”
Maya’s face tightened.
“Do you know the therapist’s name?”
“Dr. Keene.”
She wrote it down.
Dad asked, “What does this have to do with the agreement?”
Maya looked at the recovered lines.
“If Ryan couldn’t get Emma to voluntarily leave, maybe he planned to claim she was unstable.”
“For what purpose?”
“Business control. Financial control. Divorce leverage. I don’t know.”
I suddenly remembered our life insurance policies.
Six months earlier, Ryan insisted we both increase coverage.
He said it was responsible before marriage.
My heart started pounding.
“Insurance.”
Dad looked at me.
“What?”
“We bought life insurance.”
Maya stared.
“How much?”
“Two million each.”
Dad swore.
“Who’s the beneficiary?”
“Ryan.”
The room went silent.
My skin prickled.
Maya closed the laptop.
“We’re not assuming the worst without evidence.”
But she sounded like she was telling herself too.
Dad pulled out his phone.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling security.”
“Dad—”
“No.”
I didn’t argue.
For once, being protected didn’t feel like weakness.
It felt intelligent.
My phone rang.
Ryan.
We all looked at it.
“Answer,” Maya said. “Speaker.”
I did.
“What?”
Ryan sounded calm.
“Are you done?”
“With what?”
“Punishing me.”
I laughed.
“You stole from me.”
“I returned the earrings.”
My heart stopped.
Dad looked at the box.
Maya raised one finger, telling me to continue.
“You returned them?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I had someone drop them off.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters when a box appears at my father’s house with a threatening note.”
Silence.
Then Ryan said, “What note?”
His surprise sounded real.
I hated that.
“You should have left.”
Another pause.
“I didn’t send a note.”
“Ryan.”
“I sent the earrings.”
“With who?”
“A guy.”
“What guy?”
“Someone I know.”
“Name.”
He exhaled.
“Derek.”
“Derek who?”
“Why?”
“Because he knows where my father lives.”
Ryan lowered his voice.
“Emma, just come home.”
My stomach twisted.
“Home?”
“We can fix this.”
“You made a spreadsheet estimating my financial value.”
Nothing.
“I saw it.”
“You went through my flash drive?”
“My stolen financial records were on your flash drive.”
“That’s private.”
I almost laughed.
“You have photographs of my signature.”
“I was planning our future.”
“You wrote ‘gain trust’ three months after we met.”
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He breathed heavily.
“I was getting advice.”
“From who?”
“No one.”
“Were you targeting me before we started dating?”
“No!”
The answer came too quickly.
Maya wrote something on a pad.
ASK HOW HE MET YOU.
I swallowed.
“How did you know I would be at the Belle Meade fundraiser?”
Ryan went silent.
That was where we met.
I had always thought it was chance.
I was coordinating the fundraiser.
He was supposedly there with a client.
“Ryan?”
“A friend invited me.”
“What friend?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You told me your client invited you.”
“Same thing.”
“What client?”
“Emma, this is insane.”
“Name him.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
Maya whispered, “He knew.”
Dad sat down slowly.
I felt like the floor had shifted again.
Even our first meeting might have been staged.
Maya began opening the Victor folder.
Emails.
Messages.
Draft contracts.
Many were clearly fake.
One had Victor’s scanned signature.
Another contained a proposed purchase price for my company.
$3.6 million.
Ryan’s expected payout was listed separately.
$900,000.
Enough to clear his debt.
And leave plenty.
Dad pointed at a folder named D.H.
“Open that.”
Inside were payment records.
Transfers from Ryan to someone with initials D.H.
Derek Holloway.
The payments totaled more than eighty thousand dollars.
“What did Derek do for him?”
Maya opened messages.
Most were coded.
Need background.
Get tax file.
Need venue schedule.
Confirm father address.
My mouth went dry.
“He investigated me.”
Dad read the messages over her shoulder.
Ryan had paid someone to build my financial profile before we were engaged.
There were photos too.
Me entering my office.
Me having lunch with Maya.
Me visiting Dad.
Me leaving the gym.
Taken from across streets.
From parking lots.
Through windows.
I covered my mouth.
Dad walked away from the table.
I had never seen him that angry.
Maya whispered, “Derek may be a private investigator.”
“Why would a legitimate investigator steal documents?”
“Maybe he isn’t legitimate.”
A new email arrived on my phone.
Unknown sender.
Subject:
LAST CHANCE.
I opened it.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
It showed me standing in Dad’s dining room.
Taken through the window.
Seconds earlier.
Dad immediately closed the blinds.
Maya grabbed my phone.
“This was taken now.”
I looked toward the darkened glass.
Someone was outside.
Dad called security.
Then he called the police.
I stood frozen beside the dining table.
My wedding day had been yesterday.
Yesterday.
Twenty-four hours ago, I had been worried about flowers.
Now someone was photographing me through my father’s windows.
Police arrived quickly.
They searched the street.
Nothing.
The delivery truck was gone.
The dog walker was gone.
Everyone had disappeared into ordinary life.
An officer took the box, note, and screenshots.
When he asked about Ryan, I told him everything.
The stolen documents.
The financial records.
The video.
The threat.
He listened carefully.
Then he asked a question.
“Has your husband ever threatened to physically hurt you?”
“No.”
“Do you believe he might?”
I thought about the way Ryan knocked my phone away.
The way he shoved Dad.
The way his voice changed when he lost control.
“I don’t know.”
That answer scared me.
After they left, Maya insisted we go to a hotel rather than remain at Dad’s house.
Dad refused.
“This is my home.”
“And somebody is watching it,” she said.
“I’m not being chased out.”
I touched his arm.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t want you in danger because of me.”
His expression softened.
“You’re not the danger.”
Eventually, he agreed.
We booked rooms under Maya’s name at a hotel downtown.
Dad arranged private security.
We entered through the underground garage.
No social media.
No calls except essential ones.
For the first time all day, I thought I might sleep.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Linda.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the first line.
Emma, Ryan lied to me too.
I opened it.
I’m sorry.
I know you won’t believe me.
But I found something after you left.
Ryan has a second phone.
He hid it under the garage cabinet.
There are messages with Derek.
They’re talking about tonight.
My heart pounded.
I called her.
No answer.
I messaged.
WHAT ABOUT TONIGHT?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, a photo came through.
A picture of Ryan’s second phone.
The screen showed a conversation.
RYAN: She’s at Thomas’s.
DEREK: Not anymore.
RYAN: Where?
DEREK: Downtown.
RYAN: Find the hotel.
My blood turned cold.
Then another message from Linda arrived.
I’m leaving the house.
Ryan doesn’t know I found this.
Please help me.
Before I could reply, a final text came.
May you like
HE’S COMING.
Then nothing.
