PART 3 — THE POLICY I NEVER SIGNED
For several seconds, I could only stare at the number on Paige’s phone.
$5,000,000.
My name was printed above it.
Warren’s name was listed as beneficiary.
And the policy had gone into effect four months earlier.
I looked at my husband.
“Where did this come from?”
Warren glanced around the Cancun airport as though the hundreds of strangers surrounding us were suddenly more important than answering me.
“Claire, this is not what it looks like.”
I almost laughed.
Over the past eight months, that sentence had apparently become the foundation of his entire life.
The affair was not what it looked like.
The forged shareholder agreement was not what it looked like.
The company payments were not what they looked like.
And now a five-million-dollar insurance policy on my life was apparently another innocent misunderstanding.
“Then tell me what it looks like,” I said.
His eyes moved toward Paige.
“Give me your phone.”
She pulled it against her chest.
“No.”
“Paige.”
“I said no.”
I had never heard her speak to him like that.
Neither had Warren.
His expression sharpened.
“That document is confidential.”
Paige stared at him.
“You sent it to me.”
“I sent it because you kept asking when the divorce would be finished.”
My stomach turned.
Paige looked at me.
“He told me the policy was part of your business agreement.”
“What business agreement?”
She swallowed.
“He said if anything happened to you before the divorce was finalized, the insurance would protect Bellamy Ridge.”
Warren interrupted.
“That is exactly what it was.”
I looked at him.
“Why were you the beneficiary?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“Why wasn’t Bellamy Ridge the beneficiary?”
“It was structured temporarily.”
“Temporarily?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“Claire—”
“And with a signature I never gave you?”
His face hardened.
“You sign dozens of insurance documents every year.”
“Not five-million-dollar policies on my own life.”
“You may not remember.”
Those five words were worse than shouting.
You may not remember.
For years, Warren had known exactly how to make me question myself.
You’re tired.
You misunderstood.
That’s not what I said.
You’re being emotional.
You forgot.
But now I had something I had never had before.
Witnesses.
Documents.
Dates.
And a woman standing beside him who had spent months receiving pieces of the truth he had hidden from me.
I held out my hand to Paige.
“Can you send those photos to me?”
Warren stepped between us.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“They’re company records.”
Paige shook her head.
“No, Warren. They were messages you sent from your personal phone.”
He turned toward her.
“You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
Her face changed.
“I think I’m finally beginning to.”
Then she sent me both photographs.
My phone chimed.
Warren stared at it as though the sound itself had injured him.
I immediately forwarded the images to Elise.
Then I typed:
Call me as soon as you see these. Do not contact Warren first.
I had barely pressed send when Warren reached for my arm.
I stepped away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped.
“Claire, we need to speak privately.”
“No.”
“You’re destroying our marriage in an airport.”
“Our marriage survived exactly as long as your lies stayed hidden.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think Paige is telling you the truth?”
Paige flinched.
Warren continued.
“She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“That doesn’t change what you did.”
“You don’t know what I did.”
“That’s the problem.”
For the first time, he had no answer.
Nadine came closer.
“Our van is leaving soon.”
I nodded.
Warren immediately said, “Claire is staying with me.”
I looked at him.
“No, I’m not.”
“We have a reservation.”
“You have a reservation.”
“Our names are both on it.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Paige stared too.
Warren realized too late what he had said.
“Why would my name be on your Cancun hotel reservation?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“It’s just how the booking was made.”
Paige’s voice rose.
“You told me the room was booked under your company travel profile.”
“It was.”
“Then why is Claire’s name on it?”
Warren ignored her.
I felt something cold settle inside my stomach.
“Show me.”
“Claire, stop.”
“Show me the reservation.”
“No.”
That was enough.
I turned toward Nadine.
“I’m going with the crew.”
Warren followed us three steps.
“Claire.”
I kept walking.
“Claire!”
I turned.
People were watching now.
Warren lowered his voice.
“If you leave with them, you’re going to make this much worse.”
“For who?”
His silence answered me.
I left.
The crew hotel was twenty minutes from the airport.
I sat in the back of the van beside Nadine and watched Cancun move past the window.
Tourists walked beneath palm trees.
Families carried beach bags.
Couples held hands.
It was the kind of place Warren and I once would have loved.
Eighteen years earlier, we had spent our honeymoon in a cheap hotel near Galveston because we could not afford Mexico.
We had promised each other we would come someday.
We finally had.
Just not together.
My phone rang halfway to the hotel.
Elise.
I answered immediately.
“Did you see the pictures?”
“Yes.”
Her voice had changed.
The calm attorney I knew was still there, but now every word sounded deliberate.
“Claire, where are you?”
“With my flight crew.”
“Is Warren with you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That single word frightened me more than I expected.
“What do you think the policy means?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Elise.”
“I’m not going to guess about something this serious.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool window.
“Could he really take out five million dollars of insurance on me without my knowledge?”
“Not legally in the way this document appears to show.”
“So the policy might be fake?”
“It might.”
“Or?”
“Or someone made false representations.”
My throat tightened.
She continued.
“I’ve already sent the photos to an insurance attorney I work with. We need the actual policy, application records, beneficiary history, and signature verification.”
“What about the shareholder agreement?”
“That concerns me even more.”
“Why?”
“Because if your signature was forged, we’re no longer discussing a difficult divorce.”
She paused.
“We’re discussing potential fraud.”
I looked down at my hands.
“And the Austin property?”
“I spoke with Harlan.”
“You did?”
“He called me after you gave him permission to send the records.”
“What did he say?”
“The company’s accountant has found additional transfers.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“They don’t know yet.”
“More than the one-point-two million?”
“Yes.”
“How much more?”
“Claire, let the forensic accountant establish it.”
“Elise.”
Another pause.
“Possibly several million dollars.”
I closed my eyes.
Warren had always earned a very good salary.
We had money.
A comfortable house.
Investments.
He did not need to steal.
But maybe that was the mistake I kept making.
Thinking need had anything to do with it.
“How did nobody notice?”
“The payments were spread across multiple categories and several entities. Some may be legitimate.”
“And some?”
“We don’t know.”
“Who are the other entities?”
“One is Meridian. Another is a company called Red Birch Holdings.”
I opened my eyes.
That name meant something.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen Red Birch before.”
“Where?”
I tried to remember.
Then it came back.
“Warren received mail from them.”
“When?”
“Maybe six months ago.”
“What kind of mail?”
“I don’t know. An envelope.”
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Why do you remember it?”
“Because it was addressed to him at our house, but the company name sounded strange. I asked what it was.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was one of Harlan’s investment companies.”
Elise became quiet.
“I don’t think it is.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Who owns it?”
“We’re still checking.”
“Paige?”
“No.”
“Her mother?”
“Not according to the preliminary search.”
“Then who?”
“I’ll call you when I know.”
I hated that answer.
But Elise was right.
Guessing had been part of my marriage for too long.
I needed facts.
“Should I come home tomorrow?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Finish your scheduled trip.”
“My house is there.”
“And Warren may go directly there.”
“So?”
“So until we understand why someone created an insurance document involving five million dollars and a forged signature, I do not want you alone with him.”
My skin went cold.
“You think he would hurt me?”
“I’m saying I don’t know.”
That was somehow worse.
“Elise—”
“Listen carefully. Do not accuse him of planning anything physical. We have no evidence of that. But we do have evidence suggesting someone may have falsified significant financial documents involving your name. That is enough reason to be cautious.”
I looked at Nadine.
She was pretending not to listen.
“Okay.”
“Does Warren know which hotel your crew uses?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
Then Elise said something I had not expected.
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have cameras at your house?”
“A doorbell camera and two exterior cameras.”
“Can you access them from your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Change the account password.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because you told me Warren knows most of your household passwords.”
He did.
Or at least he used to.
I changed the camera password before the van reached the hotel.
Then I changed my email password.
My banking password.
My airline account.
My cloud storage.
Every place Warren might still believe he could enter simply because he was my husband.
When I finished, I stared at my phone.
Eighteen years of marriage had been reduced to a list of passwords I no longer wanted him to know.
Nadine refused to let me stay alone that evening.
She brought food to my room and sat near the window while I tried to eat.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I told her.
“I know.”
“You have an early report time.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Then why are you still here?”
She shrugged.
“Because eighteen years is a long time to discover your husband is an idiot.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had managed all day.
Then my phone rang.
Paige.
I almost ignored it.
Nadine looked at the screen.
“Want me to leave?”
“No.”
I answered.
“What?”
Paige’s voice was shaky.
“Warren disappeared.”
I sat straighter.
“What do you mean?”
“He left the resort.”
“You went to the hotel with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
That answer reminded me how little I actually knew about her.
“Where are you now?”
“In the lobby.”
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
Nadine watched my face.
Paige continued.
“I asked him about Meridian.”
“And?”
“He said my mother’s company had done legitimate consulting.”
“Did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“My mother does consulting work. Real consulting work. But not usually construction.”
“So why was Bellamy Ridge paying her?”
“He told me she was helping with investors.”
“Did your mother know where the money came from?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
“Paige, you need to stop saying that.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Then call your mother.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She won’t answer.”
A bad feeling moved through me.
“When did you last speak to her?”
“This morning.”
“Before the flight?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing unusual.”
“Did she know you were traveling with Warren?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the window.
“Did she know he was married?”
Silence.
“Paige?”
“Yes.”
I almost hung up.
Then she said quickly, “Claire, wait.”
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Warren had another phone.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Not the one he normally uses.”
“A second phone?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen it a few times.”
“What did he use it for?”
“He said it was for confidential company deals.”
“Where is it?”
“He left it in the hotel room when we argued.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Don’t touch it.”
“I already did.”
“Paige.”
“I wasn’t trying to snoop. It kept ringing.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
“Then leave it alone.”
“I saw the name.”
“What name?”
She hesitated.
“Red Birch.”
I stood.
Nadine immediately sat forward.
“What?”
“The caller ID said Red Birch.”
The strange envelope.
The company payments.
The property.
The fake signatures.
Everything seemed to be circling the same name.
“Did you see the number?”
“Yes.”
“Take a picture of the screen.”
“I did.”
“Send it to me.”
A few seconds later, the image arrived.
Unknown number.
Incoming call.
RED BIRCH
I forwarded it to Elise.
Then Paige said, “There were text previews.”
I stared at the wall.
“What did they say?”
“The first one said: ‘Your father froze everything.’”
My pulse quickened.
“And the second?”
Paige’s voice dropped.
“‘Fix Claire before Monday.’”
The room went silent.
Nadine could hear Paige now.
Her expression changed.
I gripped the phone.
“What exactly did it say?”
“Those exact words.”
“Send me the photo.”
“I already did.”
My phone chimed.
There it was.
A photograph of Warren’s second phone.
Two messages.
Your father froze everything.
And:
Fix Claire before Monday.
I read the second message three times.
Fix Claire.
Two words capable of meaning almost anything.
Fix the divorce.
Fix the paperwork.
Fix the signature problem.
Or something much worse.
I refused to let fear decide which one.
“What is Monday?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Were you and Warren supposed to do something Monday?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention a deadline?”
Paige was quiet.
Then:
“The Austin closing.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“The land deal.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
I sat back down.
So that was it.
Or at least part of it.
If the forged shareholder transfer mattered to the property transaction, Warren had only a few days to solve whatever problem my email had created.
“Paige, do not delete anything from that phone.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t give it to Warren.”
“He’ll come back for it.”
“Then leave the room.”
“What?”
“Go somewhere public.”
She became quiet.
“Do you actually think I’m in danger?”
I looked at Nadine.
“I think neither of us understands Warren as well as we believed we did.”
Elise called less than five minutes after receiving the photos.
“Where is the second phone?”
“With Paige.”
“Tell her not to access anything else.”
“I already did.”
“Good.”
“What does ‘fix Claire’ mean?”
“We don’t know.”
“Could it mean—”
“Don’t.”
Her voice was firm.
“Do not build conclusions from two words.”
I took a breath.
She was right again.
“What happens now?”
“I’m sending the information to Harlan’s attorney. The forensic accountant is documenting everything. Paige should preserve the phone exactly as it is.”
“Can Warren erase it remotely?”
“Possibly.”
My heart dropped.
“So what should she do?”
“I’ll handle that through counsel.”
I looked at the message again.
“What is Red Birch?”
“I was about to call you about that.”
Something in her tone made me stand again.
“You found the owner.”
“We found the registered manager.”
“Who?”
“Elise.”
“It’s Harlan’s executive assistant.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Her name is Marjorie Vale.”
I knew Marjorie.
Everyone knew Marjorie.
She had worked for Harlan for eleven years.
She sent birthday cards.
Organized Christmas parties.
Remembered which employees had children graduating from high school.
She had been at our house for Thanksgiving twice.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“Does Harlan know?”
“Not yet.”
“Why would Marjorie own a company receiving money from Bellamy Ridge?”
“We don’t know.”
“How much went to Red Birch?”
“At least nine hundred thousand dollars.”
I sat slowly on the edge of the bed.
“Does Warren know Marjorie owns it?”
“I would assume so, but assumptions are dangerous right now.”
“Then why would Red Birch be calling Warren’s secret phone?”
“That is a better question.”
A terrible possibility entered my mind.
“What if Harlan is involved?”
Elise did not answer immediately.
“I have no evidence of that.”
“But Marjorie works directly for him.”
“Yes.”
“And Warren told me Red Birch belonged to Harlan.”
“Yes.”
“What if Warren was telling the truth about that part?”
“Then we will deal with it when we have proof.”
I hated how reasonable she was.
Reasonable answers were too slow for the panic moving through me.
Then Elise added:
“There’s another issue.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m starting to hate that sentence.”
“This one concerns the insurance policy.”
My fingers tightened.
“You already found it?”
“My colleague found the carrier.”
“Is the policy real?”
“Yes.”
That single word made the room feel smaller.
“It’s active?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The carrier’s records show an electronic application.”
“I never completed one.”
“They also show a medical authorization.”
“I never signed one.”
“And a recorded verification call.”
I stood.
“A what?”
“Someone completed a phone verification with the insurer.”
My mouth went dry.
“Are you saying someone pretended to be me?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Can they get the recording?”
“We’ve requested preservation.”
I paced toward the window.
“Who paid the premiums?”
There was a pause.
“Elise?”
“Bellamy Ridge.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“The first three premiums were categorized as executive-benefit expenses.”
“So Warren used the company to pay for a five-million-dollar policy on my life with himself as beneficiary?”
“That is what the available records appear to show.”
I thought of Harlan.
“Wouldn’t his father have noticed?”
“Not necessarily if Warren had authority over that account.”
I turned.
“Who sold the policy?”
“We’re working on that.”
I heard typing on Elise’s end.
Then she stopped.
“Wait.”
“What?”
More typing.
“Elise?”
“I just received something.”
My heart hammered.
“What?”
“The insurance attorney found the broker of record.”
“Who is it?”
She did not answer.
Instead, she said, “Claire, do you know someone named Daniel Vale?”
Vale.
The same last name as Marjorie.
“No.”
“Marjorie has a son.”
My stomach dropped.
“And?”
“He’s an insurance broker.”
I stared at the wall.
The pieces were no longer scattered.
They were beginning to connect.
Marjorie Vale.
Red Birch Holdings.
Nine hundred thousand dollars.
Her son Daniel.
The five-million-dollar life insurance policy.
Warren’s second phone.
And the message:
Fix Claire before Monday.
“What is going on?” I whispered.
“I don’t know yet.”
For once, Elise sounded frightened too.
I barely slept.
At 4:10 in the morning, my doorbell camera sent an alert.
Motion detected.
My eyes opened instantly.
For a moment, I did not know where I was.
Then I remembered Cancun.
The hotel.
Warren.
I grabbed my phone.
Someone was standing on the porch of my house in Dallas.
The image was dark.
A person wearing a baseball cap.
I opened the live camera.
The figure turned toward the door.
My heart stopped.
Warren.
He had flown home.
Somehow, after leaving the resort, he had booked another flight and returned to Texas.
I watched him unlock the front door.
Of course he still had a key.
I sat upright.
He entered.
For seventeen minutes, nothing happened.
Then lights began turning on inside the house.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Office.
The exterior camera showed flashes through the windows.
He was looking for something.
I called Elise.
She answered on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep.
“Claire?”
“Warren is at the house.”
“What?”
“I’m watching him on the cameras.”
“Are you in Cancun?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
“He’s inside my office.”
“Can you see what he’s doing?”
“No.”
Then another motion alert appeared.
Backyard camera.
Warren emerged through the rear door carrying something.
A metal box.
I recognized it immediately.
Our home document safe.
My pulse jumped.
“What is he carrying?” Elise asked.
“The small safe.”
“What’s inside?”
“Birth certificates. Old tax records. Property papers.”
“Anything related to your Bellamy Ridge shares?”
“I don’t know.”
“Claire.”
“I haven’t opened that safe in years.”
Warren carried it toward the garage.
Then disappeared from view.
I switched cameras.
Nothing.
Thirty seconds later, the garage door began rising.
His SUV backed into the driveway.
The safe was probably inside.
“Can he legally take that?” I asked.
“If it contains jointly owned documents, that’s complicated. Do not confront him yourself.”
“I’m thousands of miles away.”
“I’m calling your local counsel.”
The SUV left.
I watched its taillights disappear.
Then something occurred to me.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“My grandmother’s land documents.”
“What about them?”
“They were in that safe.”
“The land you sold to help fund Bellamy Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“Why would those matter now?”
“I don’t know.”
But I remembered Harlan giving me eight percent of the company because of that money.
The shares had not been a random gift.
They had been recognition of what I contributed.
Maybe proof of where that contribution came from mattered.
Or maybe Warren believed it did.
I sat staring at the empty driveway.
Then my phone rang again.
Harlan.
At four-thirty in the morning.
I answered.
“Harlan?”
“Claire, where are you?”
“Cancun.”
“Good.”
His breathing sounded uneven.
“What happened?”
“Marjorie is gone.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She didn’t come to work yesterday. We sent someone to her house.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
“Empty how?”
“Clothes gone. Car gone. Computer gone.”
My skin prickled.
“Did you know she owned Red Birch?”
Silence.
Then:
“What did you just say?”
So he had not known.
“Red Birch Holdings is registered to Marjorie.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Elise found it.”
Harlan swore under his breath.
I had heard him swear maybe three times in twenty years.
“Harlan?”
“I gave Marjorie access to nearly everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Schedules. Vendor files. executive correspondence. My signature stamps for routine approvals.”
I felt sick.
“Your signature stamps?”
“Only for administrative documents.”
“Harlan.”
“I trusted her.”
The words sounded painfully familiar.
So did I.
“What about Warren?”
He became quiet.
“What about him?”
“He just went into our house and took our document safe.”
“What?”
“I watched him on the security cameras.”
“Claire, listen to me.”
His voice changed.
“Do you remember the original certificate for your eight-percent interest?”
I stopped.
“No.”
“When I gave you the shares.”
“That was years ago.”
“Do you remember where you put it?”
My eyes went toward the ceiling.
The safe.
“I think it was in the document box.”
“Was it signed by me?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“Yes.”
“Was Warren’s name anywhere on it?”
“I don’t remember.”
Harlan exhaled.
“The company lawyer needs the original.”
“Why?”
“Because the shareholder agreement Warren submitted claims your shares were conditional.”
“Conditional on what?”
“That they revert to him if your marriage ends.”
My stomach tightened.
“But you gave those shares to me.”
“I did.”
“Personally.”
“Yes.”
“No conditions.”
“None.”
“Then why does his document say otherwise?”
“Because his document is not the agreement I signed.”
Silence filled my hotel room.
Someone had not only forged my signature.
They may have altered Harlan’s documents too.
“Harlan…”
“I kept copies.”
“Where?”
“At the office.”
“Then we’re fine.”
He did not answer.
“Harlan?”
“The folder is missing.”
My fingers went numb.
“What?”
“The original shareholder records for the year I issued your interest are gone.”
“When did you discover that?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
I closed my eyes.
Marjorie was missing.
Warren had taken our safe.
Company files had vanished.
A land closing was scheduled Monday.
And my shares were somehow at the center of all of it.
Then Harlan said:
“Claire, there’s something I should have told you years ago.”
My heart sank.
“What?”
“When you sold your grandmother’s land and gave Warren the money…”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t only enough to buy equipment.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Warren told you the company needed sixty thousand dollars.”
“I remember.”
“You gave him sixty-two.”
“Yes.”
“But the equipment only cost twenty-eight thousand.”
I sat completely still.
“What happened to the rest?”
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Warren used thirty-four thousand dollars of your money to buy a parcel beside our first construction yard.”
I stared at the dark hotel room.
“Why?”
“That parcel became part of our development property.”
“What happened to it?”
“We sold it eight years later.”
“For how much?”
Harlan hesitated.
“How much?”
“Just over four million dollars.”
My throat tightened.
“And my share?”
“You never received one.”
The words hit slowly.
“What?”
“I believed Warren had settled it with you privately.”
“He never told me.”
“Claire…”
“Where did the money go?”
“Most went back into Bellamy Ridge.”
“And the rest?”
“A portion went into an investment account.”
“Whose?”
Silence.
Then Harlan answered.
“Warren’s.”
I could barely speak.
“How much?”
“About eight hundred thousand dollars.”
I covered my mouth.
The affair had begun eight months ago.
The fraud appeared to go back years.
Maybe much longer.
“Harlan, why did you never ask me?”
“Because Warren told me you wanted the money treated as his separate investment in exchange for keeping your eight-percent ownership untouched.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
My head spun.
“Then my eight percent wasn’t simply a gift.”
“No.”
“What was it?”
Harlan’s voice became quiet.
“Claire, after what you put into the company, I always believed eight percent was less than you deserved.”
I looked at the photograph Paige had sent me.
The forged document reducing my ownership to one dollar if my marriage ended.
Suddenly everything made sense differently.
Warren did not simply want my shares.
He needed them.
Maybe because once accountants traced the company’s history, my ownership could lead them back to old money.
Old property.
Old lies.
“How far back do you think this goes?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
Another security-camera alert.
Motion at the front door.
I opened it.
My breath caught.
A woman stood on my porch.
Not Warren.
She wore dark pants, a gray sweater, and large sunglasses despite the early hour.
She looked directly into the doorbell camera.
Then she removed the sunglasses.
I knew her.
Marjorie Vale.
“Harlan.”
“What?”
“She’s at my house.”
Silence.
“What did you say?”
“Marjorie is standing on my porch.”
“Call the police.”
But before I could move, Marjorie lifted something toward the camera.
An envelope.
On the front, written in black marker, were four words:
CLAIRE — WARREN IS LYING.
Then Marjorie looked over her shoulder.
She seemed frightened.
She placed the envelope beneath a flowerpot near the door.
And spoke directly into the camera.
I turned up the volume.
“Claire, I know you can see this.”
Harlan was still on the phone.
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
Marjorie continued.
“I don’t have much time.”
Her hands were shaking.
“What is she saying?” Harlan asked.
I held the phone closer.
Marjorie looked straight into the camera.
“Do not believe the insurance papers.”
My heartbeat pounded.
“The policy is real,” she said. “But Warren did not create it alone.”
Harlan made a sound beside my ear.
Marjorie continued.
“The Austin property was never supposed to become a resort.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then what was it for?” I whispered, though she could not hear me.
Marjorie looked over her shoulder again.
“The answer is in the envelope.”
Then headlights appeared at the end of my street.
Marjorie saw them.
Her face changed instantly.
She stepped away from the porch.
“Harlan,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Someone’s coming.”
A vehicle stopped in front of my house.
The camera angle did not show the driver.
Marjorie hurried down the steps.
The vehicle door opened.
She froze.
Then the video feed suddenly went black.
CAMERA OFFLINE.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
I refreshed it.
Nothing.
Front camera unavailable.
Backyard camera unavailable.
Garage camera unavailable.
All three had gone offline at exactly the same moment.
“Harlan?”
“I’m here.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Call the police now.”
I switched applications.
Before I could dial, a message appeared on my phone.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
My blood went cold.
It showed the envelope Marjorie had hidden beneath the flowerpot.
But now someone was holding it in their hand.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
You should have stayed out of the company.
I stared at the words.
Then another message arrived.
Ask Harlan what happened in 2009.
I looked at my phone.
“Harlan?”
Silence.
“Harlan?”
His breathing changed.
“What happened in 2009?”
He did not answer.
That frightened me more than the anonymous message.
“Harlan.”
His voice finally came through.
Weak.
“Claire…”
“What happened?”
Another long silence.
Then the man I had trusted like a father for nearly twenty years said:
“There was another shareholder before you.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Someone who helped start Bellamy Ridge.”
“Who?”
Harlan’s voice cracked.
“A woman named Rebecca Vale.”
Vale.
My stomach dropped.
“Marjorie’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Harlan did not answer.
“Harlan, what happened to Rebecca?”
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“She died.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“When?”
“2009.”
I looked again at the anonymous message.
Ask Harlan what happened in 2009.
“How did she die?”
Harlan inhaled shakily.
Then said the sentence that made the five-million-dollar policy on my life suddenly feel very different.
“Rebecca died three days before Warren inherited her shares.”………………
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
