PART4

Diane nodded.

“Before he married you, Brad was married to Vanessa for six years.”

I knew Brad had been married before.

He had told me his first marriage ended because his wife was unfaithful.

He had painted himself as the victim.

He had said Vanessa left him with nothing.

He had said he never wanted to speak about her again.

But Diane was telling me something different.

“Why would he be seeing her again?”

“Because Vanessa recently contacted him about a child.”

I felt the room tilt.

“A child?”

Diane nodded slowly.

“Brad has a daughter.”

I stared at her.

“How old?”

“Twenty-three.”

I couldn’t breathe properly.

Twenty-three.

That meant the child had been born before Brad and I met.

I had been married to him for eight years.

Eight years of birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and family dinners.

And he had never told me he had a daughter.

“Does she know about me?”

“I don’t know.”

I stood up and walked toward the window.

Outside, everything looked normal.

A delivery truck passed.

A neighbor watered her plants.

Somebody walked a dog along the pavement.

The world continued as if my marriage hadn’t just turned into a stranger’s story.

Then Diane spoke again.

“There’s one more thing.”

I turned around.

“What now?”

“Chloe said Brad planned to meet Vanessa today.”

I looked at the clock.

It was almost noon.

The same hotel.

The same Monday morning.

The same meeting he had dressed so carefully for.

Suddenly, the cologne made sense.

But the mistress I had imagined wasn’t necessarily the only person he was meeting.

I reached for Brad’s phone.

The screen was still unlocked.

There were several new messages.

One from Chloe.

One from an unknown number.

And one from a contact saved as V.

I opened the latest message.

It read:

“I have the original documents. If you don’t bring the money, I will tell your wife everything. You have until 2 p.m.”

I read it twice.

Then I looked at Diane.

“Do you know what this means?”

She nodded.

“I think Vanessa has something Brad desperately wants back.”

I scrolled upward.

There were several earlier messages.

The first one was dated two weeks ago.

“You promised me she would never find out.”

The second:

“You said the house would be mine.”

The third:

“I don’t care what happens to your wife. I want what you owe me.”

And then the final message:

“Today is your last chance, Brad.”

My hands were shaking.

“What did he do to Vanessa?”

Diane stood up.

“I think we need to find out.”

Before I could respond, another notification appeared.

This time, it was from Chloe.

“Mrs. Bradshaw, please don’t let Brad know Diane is with you. There is something you need to see. Check the locked drawer in his home office. The key is taped underneath the bottom shelf.”

I stared at the message.

Then I looked toward Brad’s office.

The door was closed.

I had never been allowed to touch anything in that room.

Brad always said his business documents were confidential.

He even became angry once when I moved a stack of papers while cleaning.

I walked toward the office.

Diane followed.

The room smelled of leather, expensive coffee, and the same cologne Brad had sprayed that morning.

His desk was perfectly organized.

His computer was locked.

A large bookshelf covered the wall behind his chair.

I crouched and reached underneath the bottom shelf.

My fingers touched something small.

A key.

I pulled it free.

Then I approached the desk.

The bottom drawer had a small lock.

I inserted the key.

It turned.

Inside were several folders, a passport, two bank statements, and a thick envelope.

I opened the first folder.

It contained copies of financial transfers.

I opened the second.

It contained documents relating to our investment property.

But the third folder was different.

It had my name written across the front.

I opened it.

And what I saw made me forget how to breathe.

There were photographs of me.

Not ordinary family photographs.

Photographs taken without my knowledge.

Me leaving work.

Me entering a grocery store.

Me sitting in a doctor’s waiting room.

Me arguing with Brad outside our house.

Each photograph had a date and a handwritten note.

One read:

“Emotional episode — February 12.”

Another:

“Possible memory problems — March 4.”

Another:

“Refuses medical assistance — April 19.”

I looked at Diane.

“He’s been documenting my life.”

She picked up another page.

Her face turned pale.

“This isn’t just documentation.”

“What?”

She showed me the heading.

It was a draft letter addressed to a lawyer.

The letter described me as a woman suffering from serious psychological difficulties and suggested that Brad should be given authority over certain financial and legal matters.

But the worst part wasn’t the letter.

It was the date.

It was dated six months earlier.

Long before I had ever suspected he was cheating.

Long before I had found Chloe’s messages.

Long before I had put anything in his coffee.

Brad had been preparing for this.

I suddenly remembered every argument.

Every time he told me I was overreacting.

Every time he said I was becoming forgetful.

Every time he smiled and said, “Maybe you should get some rest, sweetheart.”

I had thought he was being dismissive.

Now I wondered whether he had been collecting those moments to use against me.

Diane carefully placed the documents back on the desk.

“We need to leave these exactly as they are and contact a lawyer.”

I nodded.

Then my eyes caught something at the bottom of the drawer.

A photograph.

It showed Brad standing beside a young woman with dark hair.

She was smiling.

He had his arm around her shoulder.

On the back, someone had written:

“To Dad. I hope one day we can be a real family. Love, Emily.”

I looked at Diane.

“Is this his daughter?”

She nodded.

“Yes. Emily.”

I turned the photograph over again.

There was a date.

Three years ago.

Brad had been seeing his daughter for three years without telling me.

But why?

And why was Vanessa suddenly demanding money?

I placed the photograph on the desk.

Then I noticed a small envelope underneath it.

It was addressed to me.

My full name.

My handwriting wasn’t on it.

The envelope had never been opened.

I tore it carefully.

Inside was a handwritten letter.

The first line said:

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…