Chapter 5 - THE SECOND RECORDINGThe plan was simple enough to sound foolish.
Which, according to Naomi, made it potentially useful.
We would allow Michael to believe the bedroom recording had been copied before Rachel hid the original.
Not explicitly.
No direct lie to police.
No fabricated evidence.
Just information placed where he would hear it.
Rachel returned home.
I hated that part.
Naomi hated it more.
But Rachel insisted.
“If I disappear, he knows I talked.”
“You did talk,” I said.
“Yes. But he doesn’t know how much.”
Michael had struck her because she admitted keeping “insurance.”
He assumed that meant the phone.
Rachel would tell him she had taken the phone from the cemetery months ago, copied it, and returned it.
She would claim she gave the copy to me.
It was dangerous.
It worked within four hours.
At 11:32 that morning, Michael called me.
Hearing his voice was worse than seeing him.
“Evelyn.”
I sat in Naomi’s office while Lucas recorded legally under Massachusetts consent rules after consulting counsel about how to handle it.
“Michael.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“I made mine three years ago.”
“You always liked speeches.”
“You always liked other people’s property.”
Silence.
Then he laughed.
“Thomas has been filling your head.”
“He didn’t need to.”
“Rachel too?”
I let the pause answer for me.
His tone changed.
“Where is she?”
“Your girlfriend?”
“My wife.”
That hurt more than it should have.
I looked toward Naomi.
She shook her head slightly.
Don’t react.
“Congratulations.”
“We got married eighteen months ago.”
“I said congratulations.”
“You could have had a different life, Ev.”
“So could you.”
“You attacked me.”
“I did.”
“You nearly broke my arm in half.”
“You forged my signature.”
Another silence.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because prison didn’t make accusations less defamatory.”
I smiled despite myself.
Michael was scared.
“I’m not accusing you.”
“No?”
“No. I’m remembering.”
“Remembering what?”
“That camera in the bedroom.”
The line went dead quiet.
I looked at Naomi.
There.
The hesitation told us something.
Michael finally said, “There was no camera.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
“What did Rachel tell you?”
“I thought she was your wife.”
“Answer me.”
“Goodbye, Michael.”
“EVELYN.”
I hung up.
My hands were shaking.
Naomi leaned back.
“He took the bait.”
Lucas wasn’t smiling.
“That makes him unpredictable.”
Michael’s next move wasn’t violence.
It was public humiliation.
By lunchtime, an online gossip site had published:
CONVICTED DESIGNER RELEASED AFTER BAT ATTACK ON HUSBAND
The article quoted unnamed sources claiming I had returned to Boston and was “obsessed with revenge.”
By evening, photographs from my old trial were circulating online.
Comments arrived by the thousands.
Monster.
Psycho.
He should get a restraining order.
Imagine defending her.
She admitted it.
Some people defended me.
Most didn’t.
I turned my phone off.
For three years, prison had protected me from one thing.
Public opinion.
Now I remembered why I had never missed it.
Thomas found me sitting alone in Naomi’s conference room.
“You shouldn’t read that stuff.”
“I know.”
He put coffee beside me.
“I brought sugar.”
“I stopped taking sugar in prison.”
He removed the packets.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“I’m trying.”
That irritated me.
“Why?”
Thomas frowned.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing all this?”
“I told you.”
“No. You told me you feel guilty.”
“I do.”
“That doesn’t explain selling your share in a company, hiring investigators, picking me up from prison, and risking your brother destroying you too.”
Thomas looked toward the window.
“Michael did something to me.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t only you.”
He sat across from me.
“Our father had early-stage dementia before he died.”
I remembered George Lane.
Difficult man.
Brilliant businessman.
Obsessed with control.
“He changed his estate six months before his death,” Thomas continued. “Michael got sixty-five percent. I got thirty-five.”
“I thought it was equal.”
“So did I.”
Thomas took out another folder.
“The lawyer who handled the change also handled your property transfer.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Samuel Voss.”
The name appeared on the closing documents.
“How much did Michael steal from you?”
“Maybe eight million.”
I exhaled.
“So this is revenge.”
“Partly.”
I appreciated the answer.
“But there’s more.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“My father called me three days before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me Michael had become dangerous.”
My skin prickled.
“Dangerous how?”
“He said Michael was moving money through shell companies. Dad wanted me to investigate.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael convinced me Dad was confused.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“Then you were arrested. Michael told me you’d snapped. He showed me recordings. Texts.”
“Real ones?”
“Some. Others, I’m not sure anymore.”
“And you testified.”
“Yes.”
“So when did you stop believing him?”
Thomas’s face changed.
“The day he asked me to help him get rid of Rachel.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Six weeks ago.”
The timeline matched his discovery.
“What does ‘get rid of’ mean?”
“He said Rachel was unstable. Drinking. Threatening him.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Exactly.”
Michael was building the same story.
Again.
Rachel wasn’t his partner anymore.
She was becoming his next problem.
“What did he ask you to do?”
“Recommend a psychiatrist. Somewhere private.”
“That isn’t getting rid of someone.”
“He wanted an involuntary commitment.”
My stomach turned.
“Could he do that?”
“Not easily.”
“But he was trying.”
“Then he said something.”
“What?”
Thomas’s voice lowered.
“He said, ‘You know how this works. Once people believe a woman is dangerous, everything she says becomes evidence against her.’”
I felt cold.
“That’s when you searched?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find first?”
“My father’s records. Then the shell companies. Then Michael’s old phone.”
Before I could respond, Naomi entered.
Her expression was serious.
“We have a problem.”
“What now?”
“Rachel missed a scheduled check-in.”
Thomas stood.
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Call her.”
“I have. Nothing.”
Lucas appeared behind Naomi.
“Her phone just went offline.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Go to the house.”
Lucas shook his head.
“We call police.”
Within thirty minutes, officers were at Hawthorne Street.
Michael answered the door.
Rachel wasn’t there.
According to him, she had left voluntarily after an argument.
He claimed he had no idea where she went.
Police found no obvious signs of violence.
But one thing was missing.
Sophie.
Their two-year-old daughter.
Michael claimed Rachel had taken her.
Rachel’s car remained in the garage.
Her purse sat in the kitchen.
Her phone was later found beneath the living-room sofa.
I stood across the street with Naomi as police moved through my former home.
“This is my fault.”
“No,” Naomi said.
“We sent her back.”
“She chose to return.”
“We let her.”
“She is an adult.”
“I knew he was dangerous.”
“So did she.”
I watched Michael step onto the porch.
He spotted me.
Even from across the street, I could see his smile.
Then he walked toward us.
Two police officers followed several steps behind.
“You,” he said.
Naomi moved in front of me.
“Do not speak to my client.”
Michael ignored her.
“What did you do with my wife?”
I nearly laughed.
“You’re asking me?”
“You poisoned her against me.”
“I haven’t seen Rachel.”
Technically false if interpreted broadly, but I meant since the hotel. Naomi gave me a warning glance.
Michael came closer.
“Where is the recording?”
There.
Naomi heard it.
The officers behind him heard it.
Michael realized his mistake half a second too late.
“What recording?” I asked.
His face hardened.
“Stay away from my family.”
Then he returned to the house.
One of the officers glanced curiously at me.
Naomi smiled.
Small.
Satisfied.
“He’s rattled.”
“Rachel and Sophie are missing.”
“Yes.”
“Rattled isn’t enough.”
My phone buzzed.
A number I didn’t know.
One photo.
Sophie.
The little girl sat in the back seat of a car holding a stuffed rabbit.
Alive.
Below the photograph:
DON’T TRUST THOMAS.
A second message appeared.
ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FIRST COPY.
I stared at Thomas.
He had moved across the street to speak with Lucas.
Naomi read the messages.
“What first copy?”
“I don’t know.”
Thomas turned toward us.
I suddenly saw him differently.
The helpful brother.
The guilty witness.
The man who somehow found Michael’s hidden phone.
The man who knew my release date.
The man who rented an apartment before I walked free.
The man who had inserted himself into every step since prison.
I walked toward him.
Thomas smiled uncertainly.
“What?”
I held up my phone.
“Where is the first copy?”
His face went white.
May you like
And before he said a word, I knew.
Thomas had lied too.
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