Chapter 3 - I almost didn't go.Marcus told me not to.

The police told me not to.

Every rational thought in my head screamed that walking into a midnight meeting with a supposedly dead woman was the fastest way to become the next victim.

But one sentence kept repeating in my mind.

The person who killed your father is still inside your house.

At eleven forty-five, I left.

I told Marcus I was going to meet Victoria alone.

He didn't like it.

“I'll stay close.”

“No.”

“Emily.”

“I need to know whether she's telling the truth.”

Marcus looked at me for a long moment.

Then he handed me a small device.

“Emergency transmitter.”

I frowned.

“Your phone has a location tracker. This is separate.”

He closed my fingers around it.

“Don't be brave.”

I smiled without humor.

“I'm not brave.”

I touched my cheek.

“I'm angry.”

At midnight, I entered St. Claire Hotel.

The lobby was almost empty.

One concierge.

One security guard.

A piano in the corner.

I gave the name Emily Harper.

The concierge looked at his computer.

“Room 1807.”

I stepped into the elevator.

Every floor felt heavier.

When the doors opened, the hallway was silent.

Room 1807 stood at the end.

I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Then the door opened.

Victoria Vance stood behind it.

She looked older than the photograph.

But there was no mistaking her.

“You came.”

“Yes.”

She stepped aside.

“Close the door.”

I entered.

She locked it.

Then checked the hallway through the peephole.

“You shouldn't have come alone.”

“I was told to.”

“I needed to know whether you'd bring your husband.”

I stared at her.

“He knows you're alive.”

Victoria gave a bitter laugh.

“He knows everything.”

My stomach tightened.

“What did he do to my father?”

Victoria walked toward a table.

A black leather case sat there.

She opened it.

Inside were documents.

Photographs.

A USB drive.

And a brown ledger.

My heart stopped.

“What's that?”

“The beginning.”

I picked up the ledger.

On the first page was my father's handwriting.

Dates.

Payments.

Names.

One name appeared repeatedly.

Daniel Harper.

Another appeared even more often.

Victoria Vance.

I looked at her.

“You worked together?”

“Once.”

“For my father?”

“Yes.”

“Then you became Daniel's wife.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her eyes filled with something between regret and hatred.

“Because Daniel needed access to your father.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“What was he after?”

“Control.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

She turned another page.

“Your father had discovered that several investment firms were being used to move stolen money through legitimate family companies.”

I stared at the numbers.

Hundreds of millions.

“Daniel was involved?”

“He was the architect.”

I looked up.

“Then why marry me?”

Victoria's face hardened.

“Because your father changed his estate plan.”

The answer hit me like ice.

“What?”

“Your father realized Daniel was trying to get close to you.”

She slid a document across the table.

“My father rewrote the trust so that no spouse could access it.”

I remembered the document Marcus had shown me.

Spousal control expressly prohibited.

I looked at Victoria.

“So Daniel married me anyway.”

“He thought he'd find another way.”

“Which was?”

“Make you dependent on him.”

I felt sick.

Every decision suddenly looked different.

The vacations.

The accounts.

The financial “mistakes.”

The arguments.

The way Daniel had slowly convinced me I couldn't manage anything without him.

He hadn't been building a marriage.

He had been building a prison.

“What's the ledger?”

Victoria's expression changed.

“This is the part you don't understand.”

She pointed to the final pages.

“Your father wasn't killed because of the money.”

I swallowed.

“Then why?”

“Because he discovered what Daniel had done before you met him.”

I opened the ledger.

A handwritten note covered one page.

If anything happens to me, trust no one who claims to have protected Emily.

Below it was a second line.

Especially the man she marries.

I stopped.

“Daniel killed him.”

Victoria didn't answer.

“Did he?”

“I don't know.”

“You said you could prove he didn't die in an accident.”

She slid the USB toward me.

“This contains the original mechanic's report.”

I stared at it.

“My father's car?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

“The brakes were cut.”

I couldn't speak.

“They weren't defective,” Victoria continued. “They were deliberately sabotaged.”

I felt tears building.

“Who did it?”

“I don't know.”

“But you said the killer is still inside my house.”

She looked at me.

“I said the person who killed your father.”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“No.”

She hesitated.

“Because the killer isn't Daniel.”

My heart stopped.

“Then who?”

Victoria suddenly looked toward the door.

She had heard something.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Heavy.

Someone was standing outside the room.

Victoria grabbed the USB.

“Don't move.”

The footsteps stopped.

A knock sounded.

Three times.

Victoria went pale.

“What?”

She whispered:

“That's his knock.”

“Whose?”

She looked at me.

“My husband's.”

I stared.

“Daniel?”

“No.”

Her voice dropped.

“Your father.”

The handle began to turn.

Victoria shoved a hand over my mouth.

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