Chapter 2: The Wrong Passcode
I turned the phone toward Sarah.
She froze.
For the first time that morning, she had no answer.
“Who’s S?””
Sarah stared at the screen.
“I don’t know.””
I laughed once.
“You don’t know?””
“No.””
“This message was sent thirty seconds ago.””
“Then maybe someone else—”
Her own phone was in her hand.
I hadn’t even noticed her take it out.
I grabbed her wrist before she could touch the screen.
“Don’t delete anything.””
Her face hardened.
“Let go of me.””
“Unlock your phone.””
“No.””
That answer came instantly.
Eleven years of marriage.
We knew each other’s birthdays, passwords, bank PINs, favorite restaurants.
But suddenly her phone was private.
“Unlock it.””
“You’re frightening me.””
“Ryan was under our bed.””
“I told you—”
“He was searching my locked desk.””
“You don’t know that.””
“He received a message asking whether he opened my document box.””
Sarah yanked her wrist free.
“And you still have no right to take my phone.””
I stared at her.
Then Ryan’s phone buzzed again.
Another notification.
*S: Answer me.*
A second later:
*S: Did he come back?*
Sarah stopped breathing.
I looked at her.
She looked toward the driveway.
Then her phone vibrated.
Once.
She immediately turned it facedown.
“Give it to me.””
“No.””
“Sarah.””
“You need to leave.””
I genuinely thought I had misheard.
“This is my house.””
“I know.””
“Then why are you telling me to leave?””
“Because you’re angry.””
“No. I’m getting very calm.””
That scared her more.
I walked back upstairs with Ryan’s phone.
Sarah followed.
“James, what are you doing?””
I entered the bedroom and searched again.
Closet.
Bathroom.
Under the dresser.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the closet door.
It wasn’t fully closed.
Inside, Sarah’s dresses had been pushed sideways.
Behind them sat the black document box.
I pulled it out.
Sarah appeared in the doorway.
“Don’t.””
I looked at her.
That single word told me everything.
I carried the box to the bed.
It had an electronic keypad.
The display showed:
*FAILED ATTEMPTS: 2*
Someone had tried twice.
One more wrong code would trigger a security alert and temporarily lock it.
I looked at Sarah.
“Still want to tell me you know nothing about this?””
She stared at the floor.
“Ryan found it.””
“In my locked drawer?””
“He was curious.””
“About my legal documents?””
“James—”
“What did you promise him?””
Her head snapped up.
“Nothing.””
“What are you two doing?””
“We’re not sleeping together.””
I hadn’t even asked.
The words hung there.
I stared at her.
Sarah realized her mistake.
“I mean—”
“How long?””
“Nothing happened.””
“How long has he been coming inside?””
“He hasn’t.””
“Sarah.””
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Her shoulders dropped.
“Three weeks.””
My stomach turned.
“Three weeks.””
“Maybe four.””
I stepped away.
She reached toward me.
“Please.””
“Don’t touch me.””
“It’s not what you think.””
“Stop saying that.””
My voice rose for the first time.
“You waved another man into our home the second I left. He hid under our bed. He searched my desk.
He tried to open a locked document box. And you’re texting him while lying to my face.””
“I didn’t text him.””
I held up Ryan’s phone.
“Then unlock yours.””
Silence.
I looked at the box.
Most of what was inside wasn’t valuable to anyone else.
Copies of deeds.
Old corporate documents.
My father’s estate paperwork.
A sealed envelope from my late mother.
And one document Sarah didn’t know I had.
At least, I thought she didn’t.
Six months earlier, my father’s attorney, Charles Mercer, had given me an updated copy of a family trust amendment.
The amendment concerned our house.
Sarah believed we owned it jointly.
Technically, we didn’t.
My father had bought the property years before our marriage through a family trust. After his death, I became the controlling trustee.
Sarah had occupancy rights through our marriage.
Not ownership.
I had never emphasized the distinction because I never imagined it would matter.
Now somebody desperately wanted inside that box.
I entered the code.
Sarah suddenly stood.
“James, wait.””
I stopped before pressing the final digit.
“Why?””
“Because maybe you shouldn’t open it right now.””
I stared at her.
“Why?””
She had no answer.
I entered the last digit.
The lock clicked.
Inside, the folders looked untouched.
At first.
Then I noticed a white envelope.
It wasn’t mine.
I pulled it out.
No stamp.
No address.
Just handwriting.
*For Ryan.*
Sarah lunged.
I stepped aside.
She missed the envelope.
“Give me that!””
I stared at her.
“You put this in my box?””
“No.””
“You just tried to grab it.””
“Because it’s private.””
“In my safe?””
Her face twisted.
“James, please.””
I opened it.
Inside was a photocopy of our property deed.
A bank transfer confirmation.
And a handwritten note.
Ryan—
Once the ownership issue is handled, you’ll receive the rest.
Do not contact me at home unless James is gone.
—S
I looked at the transfer.
$60,000.
Sent two weeks earlier.
The recipient name made no sense.
It wasn’t Ryan.
It was a limited liability company I had never seen before.
*RJM Property Holdings LLC.*
I looked at Sarah.
“What is this?””
She said nothing.
“Who owns RJM?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“James—”
“Who owns it?””
“I can explain.””
“Then explain.””
Before she could answer, Ryan’s phone rang.
The caller ID wasn’t Sarah.
It read:
*CHARLES MERCER.*
My father’s attorney.
I answered.
“Charles?””
Silence.
Then Charles spoke.
“James?””
His voice changed instantly.
“Why are you answering Ryan Miller’s phone?””
I looked at Sarah.
She looked terrified.
“Because Ryan was in my bedroom.””
Another silence.
Longer.
Then Charles said something I never expected.
“James, lock your front door.””
“Why?””
“Is Sarah with you?””
“Yes.””
“Do not let her near the document box.””
My eyes went to my wife.
May you like
Charles lowered his voice.
“Because someone tried to file a transfer against your father’s trust yesterday.””
