Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN BEFORE MEI had been married to Ryan for six years.
Until that morning, I believed I knew every significant relationship he’d had before me.
A serious girlfriend in college.
Another woman named Danielle after graduation.
Several casual relationships.
No marriage.
No wife.
Yet someone had anonymously emailed me one sentence:
ASK WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FIRST WIFE.
Sarah treated the message as evidence.
My father treated it like confirmation that Ryan was capable of anything.
I didn’t know what to think.
“Could be someone trying to frighten her,” Monica, the victim advocate, said.
“Or someone trying to warn her,” Dad replied.
Sarah agreed with both possibilities.
“Until we know who sent it, we don’t assume.”
She asked me whether Ryan had ever used another name.
“No.”
“Ever lived outside Pennsylvania?”
“He spent several years in Arizona after college.”
Sarah stopped.
“When?”
“About ten years before we met.”
That gave her somewhere to start.
While officers continued processing evidence, Monica drove Dad and me to confidential temporary housing arranged through a domestic violence program.
I expected something bleak.
Instead, it was a modest two-bedroom apartment above a counseling office in another county.
Clean.
Quiet.
Anonymous.
For the first time in years, nobody could simply walk into my bedroom.
I sat on the edge of the mattress.
Then locked the door.
Then unlocked it.
Then locked it again.
Dad watched without commenting.
“You hungry?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
He ordered pancakes.
At 1:20 that afternoon, Sarah called.
“Emily, do you have privacy?”
“Yes.”
“We found a marriage record.”
The room tilted.
“Ryan was married before.”
“To whom?”
“Her name was Natalie Pierce.”
I whispered the name.
It meant nothing.
“They married in Arizona when Ryan was twenty-four. Divorce records were filed three years later.”
“So she’s alive?”
“As far as we know.”
I exhaled.
Then Sarah continued.
“But there’s a problem.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Natalie disappeared eleven months after filing for divorce.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“She was reported missing by her sister.”
“Was Ryan investigated?”
“We’re getting records.”
“Did they ever find her?”
“No.”
I stood.
“Sarah—”
“Emily, listen to me. We don’t know what happened. Missing does not mean murdered, and Ryan’s relationship to her doesn’t establish involvement.”
I appreciated her precision.
I also felt terrified.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“That’s something investigators will want answered.”
The anonymous email suddenly felt less like a prank.
Sarah asked whether I knew Michael Trent, Ryan’s boss, socially.
“Not really. Company Christmas parties. A barbecue once.”
“Did he know Lorraine?”
“Yes. Lorraine loved him.”
“Loved him?”
“She always said Michael treated Ryan like a son.”
Another silence.
Sarah said, “That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Natalie Pierce worked for Michael Trent.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“What?”
“In Arizona.”
The pattern appeared instantly.
Ryan.
Michael.
Natalie.
Then years later:
Ryan.
Michael.
Me.
“How long has Ryan worked for him?”
“Nine years.”
“Meaning after Ryan left Arizona?”
“Yes.”
Sarah exhaled slowly.
“We’re involving investigators there.”
That afternoon, I gave another recorded statement.
This one lasted three hours.
I told them everything.
The first shove.
The first threat.
The first time Ryan punched a wall beside my head.
The night he took my car keys because he believed I was “too emotional to drive.”
The morning I discovered he had installed location-sharing software on my phone.
The time he locked me outside in January wearing slippers.
The worst incident happened eleven months earlier.
We had been arguing because I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my father.
Ryan threw a ceramic mug.
It missed my face by inches.
When I tried to leave, he blocked the door.
Then he placed both hands around my neck.
Only for a few seconds.
Maybe ten.
Possibly fifteen.
But something happened inside me during those seconds.
I realized he could kill me.
Ryan released me and immediately became horrified.
He cried.
He sank to his knees.
He said he would never touch me again.
I believed him.
Or rather, I needed to.
Sarah’s expression became grave when I described the strangulation.
“Did you ever tell a doctor?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“My coworker, Jenna.”
“Would she confirm that?”
“She saw marks.”
Sarah nodded.
“We need her statement.”
That evening, my sister Rachel arrived from Columbus.
She walked through the apartment door carrying three bags and fury large enough to fill the room.
She hugged me for nearly a minute.
Then stepped back.
“I’m going to say one thing, and then I’m never going to say it again.”
“What?”
“I hated him.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. I mean I despised that man.”
Dad smiled for the first time all day.
Rachel sat beside me.
“But I stopped telling you because every time I criticized him, you defended him.”
“I know.”
“He made you disappear, Em.”
That hurt because it was true.
Ryan didn’t isolate me overnight.
He made each relationship slightly more difficult until withdrawing seemed easier than fighting.
Rachel had become “jealous.”
My father was “controlling.”
My friends were “bad influences.”
Eventually, my world shrank to Ryan and Lorraine.
Exactly where they wanted it.
At 8:07 that evening, Detective Morales called again.
This time her voice sounded different.
“We located Natalie Pierce’s sister.”
My stomach tightened.
“Her name is Bethany.”
“Does she know where Natalie is?”
“No.”
“Does she think Ryan did something?”
Sarah paused.
“She says Natalie was afraid of him.”
I closed my eyes.
Bethany had saved copies of emails Natalie sent before disappearing.
Ryan had threatened her.
Controlled her money.
Tracked her movements.
Tried to convince people Natalie was unstable.
The same pattern.
Almost word for word.
Then came something worse.
“Natalie had a life insurance policy,” Sarah said.
I couldn’t speak.
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Who was the beneficiary?”
“Ryan.”
I sat down.
“Did he get the money?”
“No. Because Natalie was never declared dead.”
I felt strangely relieved.
Then sick for feeling relieved.
Sarah continued.
“There’s another connection. The broker who submitted Natalie’s policy was the same insurance broker who submitted yours.”
I stared at the wall.
“How is that possible? Different state. Different decade.”
“The broker’s name is Harold Vance. He later moved to Pennsylvania.”
“Do I know him?”
“You’ve met him.”
“I haven’t.”
“According to the application, you did.”
My pulse quickened.
“There’s apparently a signed statement confirming an in-person meeting.”
“That never happened.”
“We believe you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“How many people are involved?”
“We don’t know.”
Rachel sat nearby listening.
Sarah lowered her voice.
“One more thing.”
I almost laughed.
There was always one more thing.
“Bethany sent investigators a photograph of Natalie.”
“So?”
“The necklace she’s wearing.”
“What about it?”
“It appears identical to a necklace recovered this morning from Lorraine’s lockbox.”
I froze.
The officers had found jewelry beneath the insurance documents.
I hadn’t looked closely.
“What necklace?”
“A gold pendant with a small sapphire.”
My skin prickled.
I knew that necklace.
Lorraine had worn it to my wedding.
She claimed Ryan’s grandmother had given it to her.
I whispered, “Oh my God.”
Rachel gripped my arm.
“What?”
I told Sarah.
She went silent.
Then she said, “Emily, we need you to think carefully. Did Lorraine ever tell you where she got that necklace?”
I remembered.
Three years earlier, over Christmas dinner.
I complimented it.
Lorraine touched the sapphire and smiled.
“Some things come into your life because somebody else no longer deserves them.”
At the time, I thought she meant an estate sale.
Now the words felt monstrous.
The next morning, police finally located Lorraine.
She wasn’t hiding at a friend’s house.
She wasn’t at a hotel.
She was sitting inside Michael Trent’s corporate office.
And security footage showed her arriving carrying one object.
The metal lockbox she had taken from our house.
But she didn’t leave with it.
When officers searched Michael’s office under an emergency warrant, they found the box inside a storage cabinet.
Inside was an old Arizona driver’s license.
Natalie Pierce.
A burned cellphone.
And a handwritten letter.
May you like
The letter began:
If anything happens to me, Ryan did not act alone.
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