Chapter 2 - The File My Wife Left BehindI didn't plug the USB into my laptop immediately.
I sat in my study with Noah asleep on the couch beside me and stared at the little black drive.
My house suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Every hallway.
Every photograph.
Every room Lily had once decorated.
I kept remembering the funeral.
The rain.
The black umbrellas.
Noah standing between my legs, too young to understand why everyone kept crying.
Everyone had called Lily's death an accident.
A wet road.
A blown tire.
A guardrail.
A hospital report.
A closed investigation.
Two years of grief.
And now one tiny USB was threatening to tear all of it apart.
I inserted it into an old laptop that wasn't connected to the internet.
The screen showed one folder.
LILY_FINAL.
Inside were three video files.
The first was dated three days before her death.
I clicked it.
Lily appeared on the screen.
My wife.
Alive.
Standing in our kitchen.
Her hair was pulled into a messy bun.
She wore the gray sweater I had always hated because she stole it from me.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
“Ethan,” she said.
Her eyes looked tired.
“If you're watching this, something has happened to me.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
Lily continued.
“I don't know whether I'm being paranoid anymore.”
She glanced over her shoulder.
“I've found money moving out of the company.”
That made me sit upright.
The company.
Cole Financial.
My father's company.
The business I had taken over after his death.
Lily had never been involved in management.
She hated the office.
She hated financial meetings.
Why had she been investigating company accounts?
“I found transfers,” she said. “Large ones. Hidden through shell companies.”
She paused.
“And the person approving them has access to your private accounts.”
My skin prickled.
Lily leaned closer.
“Ethan, please listen carefully. Do not confront anyone.”
The video ended.
I stared at the blank screen.
My pulse was pounding.
I opened the second file.
Lily appeared sitting in her car.
It was nighttime.
Rain tapped against the windshield.
“There are two people involved,” she said.
“One of them is inside the company.”
She swallowed.
“The other one is inside our house.”
I stopped breathing.
The file ended.
My hand hovered over the third video.
I already knew.
Still, I clicked.
Lily stood inside the nursery.
Noah's old room.
The crib was visible behind her.
She held something in her hand.
A small envelope.
“I don't have time anymore.”
Her voice trembled.
“If Ethan is watching this, I need him to know one thing.”
She looked directly into the camera.
“I did not die because of the accident.”
My chair scraped backward.
“What?”
Lily continued.
“I think someone tampered with my car.”
The screen flickered.
Then her expression changed.
She looked toward the bedroom door.
A noise sounded off-camera.
She turned.
“Who's there?”
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen.
Nobody moved.
Noah slept on the couch.
The room was silent.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
I stood.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
She was holding a glass of water.
Her face looked perfectly calm.
Too calm.
“You're watching videos of Lily?”
I closed the laptop.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something.”
Her eyes lowered toward my hand.
The USB.
She stared at it.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Pure fear.
“You should sleep,” she said.
“You knew about this.”
“No.”
“You knew there was a USB.”
“No.”
“You knew it was inside the teddy bear.”
Her lips parted.
Nothing came out.
I stepped closer.
“Vanessa.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me my wife died in an accident.”
She looked at me.
Her voice became almost a whisper.
“Your wife was unstable.”
I felt something inside me snap.
“Don't.”
“She was obsessed with the company.”
“Don't talk about her like that.”
“She thought everyone was against her.”
“You were.”
Silence.
Her expression hardened.
“What did you say?”
“You were inside her room.”
“Noah told me.”
“He's five.”
“He remembers things.”
“He remembers you.”
Vanessa put the glass down.
“You're letting grief destroy your judgment.”
I smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
“I've spent two years trusting you.”
She looked unsettled.
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because I don't anymore.”
That night, I didn't sleep.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
DO NOT TRUST THE WOMAN SLEEPING IN YOUR HOUSE.
I stared at it.
A second message appeared.
LILY LEFT YOU MORE THAN THE USB.
Then the phone rang.
I answered.
No one spoke.
I heard breathing.
Then a woman's whisper.
“Check the nursery floor.”
The call ended.
I looked toward the hallway.
Vanessa's bedroom door was closed.
Noah was asleep beside me.
I walked quietly to the nursery.
The old room still smelled faintly like Lily's perfume.
I searched under the crib.
Nothing.
Behind the dresser.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a loose floorboard.
I knelt.
My fingers slipped underneath.
And touched metal.
I pulled out a small silver box.
Locked.
On the lid was one handwritten word.
ETHAN.
May you like
And beneath it, in Lily's handwriting:
OPEN THIS ONLY AFTER YOU KNOW WHO TO FEAR.
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