Chapter 6
Police moved us before midnight.
Again.
This time I wasn’t told where we were going until we arrived.
A small secured apartment used for protected witnesses and vulnerable victims.
No public reservation.
No hotel lobby.
No windows facing the street.
Sophie slept through most of the move.
I envied her.
Detective Holloway stayed outside while another officer checked every room.
I showed him the video three times.
“Ryan recorded this tonight.”
“We’re verifying the metadata.”
“They’re together.”
“Yes.”
“Mercer is helping them.”
“It appears that way.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to determine.”
I hated unanswered questions.
But one answer came quickly.
At 1:20 a.m., Holloway received a call.
Dr. Alan Mercer had left his Nashville home.
His wife didn’t know where he was.
Ryan’s phone was off.
Jessica’s phone was off.
Daniel Reeves hadn’t been seen at his apartment in three days.
Four missing people.
All connected.
All dangerous in different ways.
I sat beside Sophie’s bed until dawn.
At six, my blood test results came back.
Holloway called.
“Emily, your screen was positive.”
I closed my eyes.
“For what?”
“Benzodiazepines.”
My stomach turned.
“I haven’t taken anything.”
“We know.”
“How long would it stay in my system?”
“Depends on the substance and dosage. The lab is doing more specific testing.”
“What about Sophie?”
“Her initial test was also positive for a sedative.”
I gripped the phone so hard my fingers hurt.
“They drugged my daughter.”
“It appears she was exposed, yes.”
Rage flooded through me.
Pure.
Hot.
Different from fear.
“Arrest him.”
“We’re working on warrants.”
“Working?”
“Emily, listen carefully. The toxicology changes things significantly. So does the insurance policy.”
I paced the apartment.
“Then find Ryan before he gets near us.”
“That’s the goal.”
I almost snapped at the wording.
But I stopped.
Holloway hadn’t created this nightmare.
Ryan had.
“What do you need from me?”
“Think back. Did Ryan ever insist you drive after making tea?”
I froze.
“What?”
“Any car incidents?”
Images flashed.
A scraped garage door.
A mailbox I hit backing out.
One near accident at an intersection.
Ryan told everyone I had been distracted.
I sat down.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Were you injured?”
“No.”
“Any police reports?”
“One.”
“What happened?”
“I drove onto a curb after leaving a dinner.”
“Was Ryan with you?”
“Yes.”
“Who had prepared your drink before you left?”
I knew before I answered.
“Ryan.”
Holloway was quiet.
Then he asked, “Did anyone suggest you had been drinking alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
My breathing became shallow.
He had been manufacturing incidents.
Not just memories.
Evidence.
The accident.
The forgotten keys.
The bruises.
The confusion.
A husband expressing concern.
A doctor willing to turn those concerns into a psychiatric recommendation.
Then an assault situation.
Police.
Emergency custody.
Commitment.
Or jail.
And if those failed?
A fatal accident.
Insurance.
Everything fit.
I felt sick.
Later that morning, Dana came to the apartment.
She brought coffee.
I refused it.
She noticed.
“I don’t blame you.”
She opened her laptop.
“I found something about Mercer.”
“What?”
“He and Ryan went to college together.”
I stared.
“Ryan never mentioned him.”
“That’s probably intentional.”
“How close were they?”
“They were fraternity brothers.”
My stomach dropped.
“So this wasn’t some random doctor Ryan contacted.”
“No.”
“Mercer lied in his affidavit.”
“Yes.”
“Can we prove they knew each other?”
Dana turned the screen.
Old university photographs.
Ryan, younger and smiling.
Mercer beside him.
And a third man.
I leaned closer.
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
The man looked strangely familiar.
Not because I had met him.
Because I had seen his face somewhere recently.
Then I remembered.
Jessica’s social media.
A family photograph.
Her brother.
Daniel.
“No.”
Dana looked at me.
“What?”
“That’s Daniel.”
She stared at the picture.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Three men.
College friends.
Ryan.
Mercer.
Daniel.
Jessica hadn’t introduced them.
She was connected to them all.
I whispered, “This started before Jessica.”
Dana nodded slowly.
“Looks that way.”
“How long?”
She opened another file.
“Cumberland Renewal Group was formed eight years ago.”
“That company got our money.”
“Yes.”
“Eight years ago, Ryan and I were already married.”
Sophie was a baby.
I felt nauseous.
“What does the company do?”
“On paper, property consulting.”
“And in reality?”
“Very little legitimate activity that I can find.”
“Who has sent money to it?”
Dana hesitated.
“Several individuals.”
“What individuals?”
“Mostly married men.”
My skin prickled.
“And?”
“Three of their wives died within two years of transfers.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“I want to be careful. This may be coincidence.”
“It’s not.”
“One died of an overdose. One died in a car accident. One died after falling from a balcony.”
I covered my mouth.
“Insurance?”
“Two had substantial policies. I haven’t confirmed the third.”
My mind raced.
“What if Ryan isn’t their first?”
Dana didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
I called Holloway.
He listened.
Then he said something unexpected.
“We already discovered one of those cases.”
“You knew?”
“We’re coordinating with another jurisdiction.”
“Which wife?”
“Laura Bennett.”
The overdose.
“Was Mercer involved?”
Silence.
“Holloway.”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“How?”
“He signed records noting concerns about substance misuse several months before her death.”
“And Daniel?”
“Her husband transferred money to Cumberland Renewal.”
I stood.
“This is a system.”
“That possibility is being investigated.”
“They help husbands get rid of wives.”
“We do not know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
I thought of every piece.
Financial fraud.
Drugging.
Psychiatric manipulation.
Manufactured incidents.
Insurance.
Death.
Then one question stopped me.
“Why Jessica?”
“What?”
“Daniel and Mercer already knew Ryan. Why did Jessica need to become his girlfriend?”
Holloway was silent.
I answered myself.
“To provoke me.”
Jessica in my house.
Kissing my husband.
Packing my clothes.
Taunting me.
Then hitting Sophie.
Creating chaos.
Making me angry.
Making me slap her.
A police report showing violence.
The perfect trigger.
“They wanted me to attack Jessica.”
Holloway exhaled.
“That is one interpretation.”
“No. That’s what happened.”
I remembered Jessica’s words.
Your daughter attacked me first.
Ryan’s immediate defense.
Emily, you’re acting insane.
They had the language ready.
Because they were building a record.
Dana closed her laptop.
“Emily, there’s another issue.”
“What?”
“Your grandmother’s necklace.”
I looked at her.
“What about it?”
“You reported it missing.”
“Yes.”
“It appeared yesterday at a pawn shop outside Murfreesboro.”
“Who sold it?”
Dana’s face tightened.
“You.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s impossible.”
“The seller used a copy of your driver’s license.”
“My license is in my wallet.”
“Someone had a scan.”
“And the pawn-shop camera?”
“The woman wore sunglasses and a baseball cap.”
“Jessica.”
“Possibly.”
I understood immediately.
Another piece of their story.
Emily stealing family property.
Emily selling jewelry.
Emily needing money.
Emily taking drugs.
Emily becoming unstable.
They were creating a woman who didn’t exist.
And almost succeeding.
My phone rang.
Sophie’s school.
I answered.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Principal Hall.”
My chest tightened.
Sophie wasn’t at school.
“What’s wrong?”
“We received an email from you requesting Sophie’s student records be released.”
“I didn’t send anything.”
Silence.
“Who were they supposed to be released to?”
“A school in Louisville.”
Kentucky.
“Which school?”
“St. Matthew Preparatory Academy.”
I wrote it down.
“Who submitted the request?”
“It came from your email address.”
“My email may be compromised.”
“I thought you should know because the attached withdrawal form was unusual.”
“What was unusual?”
“It said Sophie would be relocating with her father next week.”
I stood completely still.
“Next week?”
“Yes.”
“Did you release anything?”
“No. We called to verify.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up and told Dana.
Her expression darkened.
“They planned to take Sophie.”
“After I was committed.”
“Or after you were dead.”
I couldn’t breathe for a moment.
Then Holloway called again.
His tone had changed.
“We found Ryan’s vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking garage.”
“Did he fly somewhere?”
“We’re checking passenger records.”
“What about Jessica?”
“Unknown.”
“Mercer?”
“Unknown.”
“And Daniel?”
“Unknown.”
I looked at Sophie playing quietly in the other room.
“They’re leaving.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
I stared at the school withdrawal request.
“They were planning to take Sophie to Kentucky.”
Dana looked at me.
Then her eyes widened.
“What?”
She typed quickly.
“St. Matthew Preparatory.”
“Yes.”
“It’s twenty minutes from a property owned by Cumberland Renewal Group.”
My blood chilled.
“What property?”
“A rural house.”
“Who lives there?”
“No one officially.”
Holloway heard everything through the phone.
His voice became sharp.
“Send me the address.”
Dana did.
Police reached the property less than an hour later.
They found the house empty.
Mostly.
In the basement were three single beds.
A locked medicine cabinet.
Fake identification documents.
And photographs.
Dozens of photographs.
Women.
Children.
Families.
Some faces were crossed out.
Others had dates written beneath them.
Holloway came to see me that afternoon.
He placed one photograph on the table.
My wedding picture.
Ryan and me smiling outside a church.
The date beneath it was from eleven years ago.
But another date had been written below it.
Friday’s date.
I stared at it.
“This was in the basement?”
“Yes.”
“Why do they have my wedding picture?”
“We’re still processing everything.”
I turned it over.
There were four words written on the back.
FINAL PHASE — R. CARTER.
My throat closed.
Holloway looked at me.
“We also found a passport.”
“Mine?”
“No.”
“Sophie’s?”
“No.”
He slid another photograph forward.
It was Jessica.
But the passport had a different name.
Lauren Reeves.
I looked up.
“Jessica isn’t Jessica?”
“Apparently not.”
Then he placed one more document beside it.
An old death certificate.
Name:
Jessica Reeves.
Date of death:
Fourteen years ago.
I stared at the page.
“How can Jessica be dead?”
Holloway’s expression was grim.
“Because the woman you know as Jessica may actually be her older sister.”
“Lauren.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the fake passport.
“Then who was Jessica?”
Holloway turned another photograph around.
Two teenage girls stood together.
The younger one was Jessica.
The older one was the woman who had been sleeping with my husband.
Lauren.
“What happened to Jessica?”
“Officially, she died in a car accident when she was nineteen.”
“Who was driving?”
Holloway’s eyes stayed on mine.
“Her brother.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Holloway placed an old college photograph on the table.
Ryan stood beside Mercer and Daniel.
Then he pointed to the fourth man I hadn’t noticed before.
“Her oldest brother.”
I stared at the face.
I knew him.
Everyone in Nashville knew him.
A respected attorney.
A man whose smiling face appeared on billboards around the city.
A man who had represented Ryan during a business dispute years ago.
May you like
Thomas Reeves.
And according to Holloway, Thomas was now representing Ryan in our divorce.
