Chapter 3 - The Paperwork of Death
The old woman’s name was Clara,
and her apartment was a shrine to a daughter Marcus had erased.
She had spent years tracking his movements,
documenting his affairs,
and uncovering the trail of "accidents" that followed him like a shadow.
"He changes his name every few years,"
Clara explained,
spreading a map of Texas across her small kitchen table.
"But the method stays the same,"
"the necklace,
the insurance,
the cliff,
the 'grief'."
She showed me files of other women,
women I had never heard of,
who had all died within months of marrying a man who looked like my husband.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me,
realizing I was just a number in a long,
bloody sequence.
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
I asked,
looking at the evidence she had gathered.
"I did,"
she said bitterly.
"But he’s clever,
Danielle."
"He works with people in high places,"
"lawyers,
insurance adjusters,
even a coroner who looks the other way for the right price."
"To catch him,
you have to let him think he’s won,"
"you have to walk right to the edge of the cliff."
I looked at the clock;
it was nearly 5:00 PM.
I had to get home before Marcus,
to play the part of the unsuspecting victim one more time.
"Take this,"
Clara said,
handing me a small,
high-definition recording device disguised as a brooch.
"And this,"
she added,
giving me a fake necklace that looked identical to the one Marcus had given me.
"The pendant is filled with harmless salt,"
"but to him,
it will look like the poison is still there."
I thanked her and hurried back to the apartment,
my mind a battlefield of fear and cold calculation.
When I walked through the door,
Marcus was already there,
sitting at the table with two glasses of wine.
"You’re late,"
he said,
his voice deceptively calm.
"I was worried something had happened."
"Just a busy day at the office,"
I replied,
hanging up my coat and making sure the brooch was pinned securely.
"The end of the quarter is always a nightmare."
He smiled,
that predatory,
hollow smile that made my skin itch.
"Well,
tomorrow night will be much more relaxing,"
he promised,
handing me a glass of wine.
"I’ve booked a room at the lodge by the cliffs."
I took a sip of the wine,
praying it wasn't drugged,
and looked at him.
"I can't wait,
Marcus."
"I’ve even decided to wear the necklace you gave me."
His eyes lit up with a dark,
triumphant spark.
"That’s my girl,"
he said,
reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
That night,
as he slept soundly beside me,
I crept into his office and turned on his computer.
I had been an accountant for fifteen years;
I knew how to find what was hidden.
I bypassed his passwords with the software Clara had given me,
and the digital darkness opened up.
There it was—
the offshore account where the insurance payouts were funneled.
There were the emails to his partner,
discussing the "liquidation" of his latest asset.
And there was the folder titled "Danielle,"
containing photos of me at work,
at the grocery store,
and even asleep in our bed.
He had been documenting my life like a scientist studying a specimen before dissection.
I downloaded everything onto a thumb drive,
my fingers flying across the keys as the clock ticked toward dawn.
Suddenly,
I heard the bedroom door creak open.
I slammed the laptop shut and hid the thumb drive in my palm,
my heart stopping in my chest.
Marcus stood in the doorway,
shrouded in shadow.
"Danielle?
What are you doing in here?"
he asked,
his voice low and dangerous.
"I...
I couldn't sleep,"
I stammered,
leaning back against the desk.
"I wanted to check the weather for our trip tomorrow."
He walked toward me,
his presence filling the small room until I felt I couldn't breathe.
He reached out,
his hand moving toward the laptop,
but then he stopped and looked at my face.
"You seem different lately,"
he whispered,
his eyes searching mine for any sign of betrayal.
"Is something wrong?"
I looked him straight in the eye,
summoning every ounce of strength I had.
"No,
Marcus,"
I said,
my voice as steady as the grave.
"Everything is exactly as it should be."
He lingered for a moment,
the tension between us vibrating like a taut wire,
then he turned and walked back to the bedroom.
"Go to sleep,"
he called out.
"We have a big day tomorrow."
I waited until I heard his steady breathing again,
then I slumped to the floor,
clutching the thumb drive like a lifeline.
The trap was set,
the evidence was gathered,
May you like
and tomorrow night,
one of us wasn't coming back from the cliffs.
