Chapter 9 - Under The Floor
The metal box came up covered in gray dust.
Detective Ramos stopped me at the bedroom door.
“Stay back until bomb tech clears it.”
“It’s a document box.”
“It’s an unknown box in a house belonging to a man threatening witnesses.”
I stayed back.
Barely.
Ten minutes later, gloves opened the lid.
Photographs lay on top.
Rebecca’s bruised arms.
Her split lip.
A hospital bracelet.
Bank statements underneath.
Then a small digital video camera.
Victoria sat on the edge of the bed.
“No.”
Charles looked at her.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
Detective Ramos connected the camera to a laptop.
The first file opened.
Rebecca appeared on screen.
Younger than in the engagement photo.
Tired.
She looked directly into the lens.
“If I leave this house alive, I’m never coming back.”
Nobody moved.
Rebecca held up a pill bottle.
“Nathan says these are for anxiety. They make me lose hours.”
My knees weakened.
The next video showed Nathan entering the room.
Rebecca had hidden the camera behind books.
His voice was clear.
“You keep making this difficult.”
Rebecca said, “Give me my accounts back.”
“You don’t know how to manage money.”
“It’s mine.”
“Not after we’re married.”
The room around me disappeared.
Different woman.
Same script.
Ramos opened another file.
This one showed Victoria.
She stood in the lake-house kitchen with Nathan.
“You will never do this again,” she said.
Nathan leaned against the counter.
“You’ll help me next time.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Why would I?”
“Because next time you’ll have more to lose.”
The video ended.
Charles turned toward his wife.
“What did that mean?”
Victoria shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“I don’t remember that conversation.”
“Stop lying.”
She flinched.
I knelt beside the metal box.
There were letters beneath the bank records.
One envelope stopped me.
TO THE NEXT WOMAN NATHAN MARRIES.
My name wasn’t on it.
It didn’t need to be.
I opened it.
The first line made my mouth go dry.
If you are pregnant, do not let Nathan choose your doctor.
I read the sentence aloud.
Victoria whispered, “Oh God.”
Charles looked at her.
“What?”
She stood too quickly.
“The doctor.”
“Which doctor?”
“Malcolm Reed.”
The private consultant who had opened my medical records fourteen times.
I kept reading.
Rebecca wrote that Nathan once tried to convince two doctors she was unstable.
One refused.
The other was Dr. Reed.
A floorboard creaked behind us.
Everyone turned.
An officer stood in the doorway.
“Detective, you need to see the exterior camera feed.”
We moved downstairs.
The security system had saved one cloud snapshot before police cut power.
A black SUV sat beyond the trees.
The plate was unreadable.
But the driver-side door was open.
Nobody inside.
Ramos ordered another sweep.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Nathan?”
A click.
The line went dead.
I checked the call duration.
Seven seconds.
Detective Ramos held out his hand for my phone.
“We’ll trace it.”
Before I gave it to him, another notification appeared.
A calendar invite.
Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m.
HALE FAMILY COURT MATTER.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
Charles’s attorney called at the same moment.
He answered.
Her voice came fast.
“Charles, Nathan filed an emergency petition.”
“For what?”
“Control of Emily’s finances and medical decisions.”
I felt the baby kick hard.
The attorney continued.
“He has a physician supporting his claim.”
I looked at the letter in my hand.
“Dr. Reed?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I folded Rebecca’s warning.
May you like
Then read the next line.
Nathan’s plan only works if people believe you are sick before you know you are in danger.
