Chapter 5
Nobody spoke.
I stared at Lauren.
Then I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my brain had reached the point where murder somehow sounded like just one more item on a list.
“My husband steals my identity, my supposedly dead mother calls me, and now my cousin tells me someone wants me murdered.”
Lauren didn’t blink.
“Yes.”
Dad stepped closer to her.
“You’d better explain that carefully.”
She did.
According to the trust documents, if I died without children, the remaining assets would pass to a Fairmont family foundation.
That foundation was controlled by Victor.
I felt ice move through my veins.
“So if Ryan gets control because I’m incompetent, he gets access.”
“Yes.”
“And if that fails?”
“Victor gets it if you die.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What a beautiful family.”
Dad looked crushed.
“You’re a Bennett.”
I turned on him.
“I’m apparently whatever everyone needs me to be when money is involved.”
His face fell.
I hated that I hurt him.
I also wasn’t ready to apologize.
Evelyn contacted the police again.
Lauren gave a formal statement.
She turned over copies of everything she had.
By evening, an investigator named Detective Marcus Hale arrived.
He was calm, direct, and clearly skeptical of everyone.
I liked him immediately.
He sat across from me.
“Mrs. Cole, I need to ask you something uncomfortable.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you believe your husband is capable of killing you?”
My mind went back to the kitchen.
Ryan standing over me with the mop.
Now are you ready to sign?
“Yes.”
The answer came easily.
That scared me.
“Has he ever threatened to kill you?”
“Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
I remembered countless small things.
If you ever leave me, you’ll regret it.
Your father won’t always be around to save you.
Nobody will believe you if you keep acting emotional.
At the time they sounded cruel.
Now they sounded rehearsed.
I told Hale everything.
He wrote it down.
Then he asked, “Where is Ryan now?”
“I don’t know.”
“We checked the address listed on his bond. He isn’t there.”
Dad swore.
Detective Hale continued.
“His attorney claims he’s complying with release conditions.”
“So nobody knows where he is?”
“We’re working on it.”
That was not comforting.
Dad insisted I stay with him.
Hale suggested somewhere Ryan wouldn’t expect.
Lauren offered a condo she owned downtown.
Dad immediately refused.
“I wouldn’t trust a Fairmont property.”
Lauren’s expression tightened.
“Then take her to a hotel.”
I looked at Dad.
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“I’m not running from my own life.”
Detective Hale leaned forward.
“This is not about pride.”
I knew he was right.
I hated that too.
In the end, Evelyn arranged for me to stay in a secure guest apartment owned by her law firm.
Only four people knew the address.
Me.
Dad.
Evelyn.
Detective Hale.
I refused to let Lauren know.
Before leaving, she gave me her phone number.
“You may hate my family,” she said.
“I’m getting there.”
“I do too.”
That made me pause.
She continued.
“My father ruined people for money. I spent years pretending I didn’t see it.”
“Why stop now?”
“Because he started doing it to my son.”
I stared at her.
“You have a son?”
“Ethan. He’s fourteen.”
“What did Victor do?”
“He tried to make me sign control of Ethan’s inheritance over to him.”
The similarity wasn’t lost on either of us.
“And when you refused?”
“He threatened to take Ethan from me.”
I looked at her differently.
For the first time, she wasn’t Victor’s daughter.
She was a mother who had also heard a man demand a signature.
Maybe fear ran through this family more reliably than blood.
“I’ll call if I need you,” I said.
She nodded.
At the apartment that night, Dad wanted to stay.
I told him no.
“Sarah, Ryan could—”
“I need a few hours without somebody deciding what’s best for me.”
That stopped him.
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
He kissed my forehead.
At the door, I said, “Dad.”
He turned.
“I’m angry at you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know when that stops.”
“I know.”
“But thank you for coming.”
His eyes filled.
“I will always come.”
After he left, I locked the door.
Then checked it twice.
The apartment felt too quiet.
I showered slowly because every bruise hurt.
Afterward I stood in front of the mirror.
Purple marks spread across my back and shoulder.
For years, I had defended Ryan.
When Dad thought he was too controlling, I called Ryan protective.
When my friends stopped inviting us places because Ryan always complained, I told myself marriage changed friendships.
When Ryan asked to handle our finances, I thought he was helping.
I had translated his control into love until I barely recognized the language anymore.
At 11:42 p.m., someone knocked on the door.
I froze.
No one should have known I was there.
The knocking came again.
Three slow taps.
I grabbed my phone and called Detective Hale.
“Someone’s outside.”
“Do not open the door.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Officers are on the way.”
Another knock.
Then a voice.
“Sarah?”
My heart stopped.
Mom.
I moved toward the door.
Hale heard.
“Who is it?”
“My mother.”
“Do not open it.”
“Sarah,” Mom called again. “Please.”
I looked through the peephole.
There she was.
Older.
Thinner.
Her hair darker than I remembered.
But it was her.
My mother.
Alive.
Seven years of grief stood six feet away from me.
I unlocked the door.
Hale shouted through the phone.
“Sarah!”
I opened it.
Mom stared at me.
Her mouth trembled.
“Oh, my baby.”
I slapped her.
The sound cracked through the hallway.
She didn’t move.
Tears filled her eyes.
I immediately hated myself.
Then I remembered seven birthdays.
Seven Christmases.
Seven anniversaries of her “death.”
“You don’t get to call me that.”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let me think I lost you.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
My voice broke.
She started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to slam the door.
Instead, I collapsed into her arms.
I hated that my body remembered her before my anger could stop it.
She held me.
I cried like a child.
For maybe thirty seconds.
Then I pushed her away.
“How did you find me?”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“This address. Only four people know.”
She looked genuinely confused.
“Ryan told me.”
My blood went cold.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
I stepped backward.
Mom entered and shut the door.
“Sarah, listen to me.”
“No. You listen to me. Ryan was arrested. He’s dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you talking to him?”
“Because he called me.”
“How did he get this address?”
She shook her head.
“I assumed you told him.”
“Why would I tell him where I’m hiding from him?”
Mom’s face drained of color.
Then we both understood the same thing.
Someone among the four people I trusted had given Ryan the address.
Dad.
Evelyn.
Detective Hale.
Or me without realizing it.
My phone was still connected to Hale.
“Detective?”
Nothing.
I looked at the screen.
The call had ended.
I didn’t remember ending it.
Then the lights went out.
Every light in the apartment died at once.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“Stay down.”
A second later, something heavy slammed against the front door.
Once.
Twice.
The lock cracked.
Mom pulled something from her purse.
A small canister of pepper spray.
“Get behind me.”
The door burst inward.
A man in dark clothing rushed inside.
Mom sprayed him.
He screamed and swung blindly.
I grabbed a lamp and hit his arm.
He stumbled.
Another figure appeared behind him.
Then police sirens exploded outside.
Both men ran.
One escaped down the stairwell.
The other didn’t make it.
Two officers tackled him in the hallway.
Detective Hale arrived seconds later.
His face was furious.
“I told you not to open the door.”
I pointed at my mother.
“She knew the address.”
Hale looked at her.
Then at me.
“What?”
“Ryan gave it to her.”
Hale’s expression changed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Ryan doesn’t know this address.”
Mom stepped forward.
“He called me.”
Hale pulled out his phone.
“Show me the number.”
Mom did.
He stared at it.
Then he looked at us.
“That isn’t Ryan’s number.”
“He said it was him.”
“Someone spoofed it.”
My stomach twisted.
The officers dragged the captured attacker upright.
His eyes were swollen from the spray.
Detective Hale asked him his name.
The man refused.
Then one officer searched his pockets.
He pulled out a folded photograph.
My photograph.
Taken earlier that day.
Outside Dad’s house.
On the back, someone had written one sentence.
MAKE IT LOOK LIKE RYAN DID IT.
I stared at the words.
Mom whispered, “Victor.”
Detective Hale looked at us.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I said.
He handed the note to an evidence technician.
“If someone wants us to believe Ryan planned your murder, we have to ask why.”
I stared at him.
Then a horrible thought formed.
“Because Ryan knows something Victor doesn’t want him to tell us.”
Hale nodded.
“Exactly.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Nobody moved.
Hale answered it on speaker.
“Hello?”
Ryan’s voice came through.
“You finally figured it out.”
My entire body tightened.
“Ryan,” I said.
He ignored me.
“Detective, if you want Sarah alive tomorrow morning, bring her mother to the old Fairmont warehouse on Madison Avenue.”
Mom went pale.
Hale said, “Where are you?”
Ryan laughed.
“Closer than you think.”
Then he added one final sentence.
“And Sarah?”
I swallowed.
May you like
“What?”
“Your father is the one who gave them your address.”
