Chapter 5 - The Mistress Made One Fatal MistakeMichael celebrated my death at a penthouse overlooking downtown Denver.
The apartment belonged to Ashley Reed, although she had told her coworkers that she rented a modest studio near the office. I learned about the gathering from Elena, who had obtained the information through legitimate financial records and interviews with people who worked for Michael.
The celebration began at eight.
By nine, champagne had been delivered.
By ten, Michael had opened a second bottle and was explaining exactly how he intended to spend fifty million dollars.
I wasn't there, of course.
I was still recovering from surgery, learning how to hold my son without hurting my ribs, and forcing myself to eat meals that tasted like cardboard. But Richard had arranged a secure conference room next to my hospital suite, and Elena kept me informed.
"They're not being particularly cautious," she reported over a video call. "Ashley has posted photographs from the apartment. Nothing directly incriminating, but the timing is interesting."
"What about the insurance company?"
"Northstar has acknowledged the claim. They haven't approved payment yet. The size of the policy has triggered a review."
I released a breath.
"Good."
"There's more. Ashley appears to be planning a purchase. A property in Aspen, listed at six million dollars. She has also transferred money to an account in the Cayman Islands."
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand dollars, in three separate transfers."
I stared at the screen.
"Does Michael know?"
"That's unclear."
For a moment, I imagined Ashley spending my money in a mountain house, standing on a balcony overlooking the same landscape where her lover had left me to die.
The thought made my hands shake.
Richard noticed.
"We can stop the transactions once the proper authorities authorize it," he said. "Don't let them provoke you into doing something that could damage the case."
"I won't."
I meant it.
That didn't mean I had forgiven them.
The next morning, Elena brought a new piece of evidence. It was a message Ashley had sent to a friend several weeks before the hiking trip.
Once everything is settled, I'm finally getting my life back.
The friend had responded with a question about Michael.
Ashley answered:
Michael says Emma won't be a problem much longer.
The message was suggestive, but not conclusive. It didn't establish that Ashley knew about the planned murder.
Then Elena showed me something else.
A photograph from a security camera at a jewelry store.
Ashley stood before the counter, examining a diamond bracelet. Michael was beside her, leaning close to whisper in her ear. The photograph was dated six days before my fall.
The receipt showed that Michael had paid in cash.
I recognized the bracelet.
It was the one Ashley wore in the funeral photographs.
"He bought her jewelry with money from our joint account," I said.
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Thirty-eight thousand dollars."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"I spent three weeks deciding whether we could afford a new washing machine. He told me our household budget was tight."
Richard said nothing.
He didn't need to.
I had spent years adjusting my expectations to make Michael comfortable. I wore old clothes so he could buy better suits. I accepted canceled dinners and lonely evenings because he claimed he was building a future for our family.
All the while, he had been building a future that required my death.
My phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number.
I stared at the screen.
"Don't answer," Richard said immediately.
But something made me reach for the phone and activate the recording function before accepting the call.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice came through the speaker.
"Emma?"
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Who is this?"
"This is Ashley."
I looked at Richard.
He motioned for me to remain calm.
Ashley continued in a low voice.
"I know you're not dead."
The room went silent.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Stop pretending. Michael received a message this morning from someone who claimed to have seen a woman matching your description being loaded into a helicopter."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Then why are you calling me?"
"Because I want to make a deal."
I nearly laughed.
A deal.
The woman who had watched my husband leave me to freeze was calling to negotiate.
"What kind of deal?"
"Michael isn't the only person you need to worry about."
I sat straighter.
"What does that mean?"
There was a pause.
"I thought we were dealing with a simple insurance claim. He told me you'd be gone, that the fall would look accidental, and that the payout would settle his debts. I didn't know your family was involved."
"So you knew he planned to kill me."
Ashley exhaled sharply.
"I knew he was going to arrange an accident. I thought he would give you sleeping pills or sabotage something. I didn't know he would push you off a cliff."
The distinction was meaningless.
"You helped him."
"I can give you information."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because Michael is planning to leave the country."
Richard immediately leaned closer to the speaker.
"When?"
Ashley hesitated.
"Tomorrow night. He's booked two tickets under different names. He says he's taking the first payment and moving somewhere where nobody can find him."
"Then why haven't you gone with him?" I asked.
Her answer came quickly.
"Because he doesn't intend to bring me."
I looked at Richard.
Ashley began speaking faster.
"He says we're too conspicuous together. He's promised me money, but I don't think he's going to share anything. He has documents hidden in a storage unit, and I can tell you where they are."
"Why not take them to the police?"
"Because I don't trust the police any more than I trust Michael."
"Then tell me what you know."
For the next few minutes, Ashley described a meeting with Michael and Thomas Bell. She said Bell had helped arrange the insurance paperwork and had provided access to a financial account Michael used to move money.
Then she gave me an address.
A storage facility on the outskirts of Denver.
Unit 417.
"The notebook is there," she whispered. "The red one. Michael keeps saying it contains information that could destroy everyone involved."
I felt my blood run cold.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because if Michael goes down, I don't want to go down with him."
"You don't get to decide what happens next, Ashley."
She fell silent.
Then she said something that changed the direction of the entire investigation.
"Emma, there is something else. Michael wasn't the one who first suggested the fifty-million-dollar policy."
"Who was?"
"Thomas Bell."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a long time.
Richard ordered Elena to verify the storage unit and contact law enforcement. He also instructed his security chief to alert the relevant authorities about Michael's travel plans.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Ashley's confession.
She had called because she was frightened. Not because she was sorry.
And if she was telling the truth, then my husband had not invented the plan alone.
Someone had placed fifty million dollars in front of him and shown him exactly how to reach it.
Richard's phone vibrated.
He read the incoming message, and his face darkened.
"Elena has reached the storage facility," he said.
I waited.
"Unit 417 is empty."
My stomach dropped.
"Then Ashley lied?"
"Perhaps."
Richard turned the phone toward me.
A photograph showed a bare storage room, its door standing open.
On the concrete floor lay a single red button, apparently torn from a notebook cover.
Beneath it was a handwritten message.
SHE KNOWS WHO REALLY DIED TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AGO.
I looked up sharply.
"My mother died twenty years ago."
Richard said nothing.
Because he had noticed the detail I had missed.
May you like
The handwriting on the message was the same as the handwriting on the life insurance rider.
And the signature at the bottom belonged to Thomas Bell.
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