Chapter 2 - TWELVE MINUTES
I locked myself inside the bathroom and called 911.
I hated that my hands were shaking.
I hated even more that Bradley could hear it in my voice.
"Maddie."
He knocked again.
"Don't do something stupid."
I almost laughed.
Something stupid.
He had watched two grown men drag his wife across wet grass.
He had pushed me into water cold enough to leave my lips numb.
And somehow I was about to become the unreasonable person.
The dispatcher stayed calm.
"Are there weapons in the house?"
"Not that I know of."
"Has your husband threatened you?"
I looked toward the bathroom door.
"He told me to give him my phone."
Bradley spoke through the bedroom door.
"We just want to talk."
The dispatcher heard him.
"Officers are on their way."
Rachel stayed connected on my second line.
"Maddie, listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"Do not argue with them."
"I won't."
"Do not threaten divorce."
"I wasn't planning to."
"And don't tell Bradley what evidence you have."
My eyes narrowed.
"What evidence?"
"The camera."
Outside, Barbara raised her voice.
"This is ridiculous."
Then she said something louder.
"She was drunk."
I hadn't had a single drink.
I looked at my phone.
Rachel heard that too.
"Good."
"Good?"
"She's already building a story."
I felt suddenly cold again.
Not from the pool.
From understanding.
The woman outside wasn't embarrassed.
She wasn't worried about me.
She was preparing a defense.
I opened my banking app.
That instinct changed everything.
I don't know why I did it.
Maybe because Rachel had said not to delete anything.
Maybe because Barbara mentioning a story made me start thinking about every other strange thing that had happened that weekend.
The rental had cost nearly eight thousand dollars.
The groceries, catering, wine, activities, and transportation had added thousands more.
Bradley had promised to reimburse me for half.
He hadn't.
That wasn't unusual.
Bradley was always going to "handle it Monday."
I tapped our joint account.
My stomach dropped.
The balance was almost $42,000 lower than it had been three days earlier.
I refreshed the screen.
Same number.
I opened the transaction history.
There it was.
Three transfers.
$14,000.
$16,500.
$11,250.
All sent to something called BWC Management.
I had never heard of BWC Management.
"Rachel."
"Yes?"
"I think money is missing."
"How much?"
"Over forty thousand dollars."
There was silence.
"From where?"
"Our joint savings."
"When?"
"Yesterday and today."
"Screenshot everything."
I did.
Then I saw another transfer pending.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
My breathing stopped.
"There's another one scheduled."
"For when?"
"Monday morning."
Rachel's voice became colder.
"Cancel it if the account allows you to."
I tried.
The banking app asked for two-factor authentication.
The code went to Bradley's phone.
Of course it did.
I closed my eyes.
Someone pounded on the bedroom door again.
Then I heard Thomas.
"Brad, leave her alone."
Barbara answered immediately.
"Stay out of this."
Thomas said something lower.
Then came a sound I had never heard before.
A man snapping.
"No, Barbara."
The patio chatter disappeared.
Thomas continued.
"This has gone far enough."
My eyes widened.
Bradley yelled back.
"Dad, she's threatening the whole family."
I hadn't threatened anyone.
Thomas answered.
"She hasn't said a word to anybody."
That sentence mattered.
A lot.
Because it meant at least one person had noticed.
Sirens became audible in the distance.
The house erupted.
"What the hell?"
"Did she call the cops?"
Barbara started shouting.
"This is humiliating."
I nearly laughed again.
Apparently police arriving was humiliating.
Her daughter-in-law being thrown into a pool was comedy.
Someone knocked gently on my door.
"Maddie?"
It was Thomas.
"The police are here."
I opened the bathroom door but kept the bedroom locked.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Bradley is downstairs."
I opened the bedroom door.
Thomas stood there looking ten years older than he had during dinner.
He glanced at my soaked clothes on the floor.
Then at the red marks on my arms.
His face tightened.
"I didn't know they grabbed you that hard."
I stared at him.
"You were watching."
He looked away.
That hurt more than I expected.
"You're right."
Two officers came upstairs.
One was a woman named Officer Delgado.
She looked at my arms.
"Ma'am, would you like medical attention?"
"No."
"Do you want to make a report?"
From downstairs, Barbara yelled.
"She slipped."
Officer Delgado looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
"Did you slip?"
"No."
"Were you pushed?"
"Yes."
"Did you consent to being grabbed?"
"No."
She wrote something down.
"Who grabbed you?"
I swallowed.
"Trevor Collins and Mason Reed."
"And who pushed you?"
"My husband."
The officer looked at me for one second longer.
Then she asked the question Bradley apparently hadn't expected.
"Are there cameras?"
Before I answered, there was a loud crash downstairs.
Someone shouted.
Then Thomas ran toward the staircase.
Officer Delgado followed him.
I stepped into the hallway.
At the bottom of the stairs, Bradley was standing beneath the security camera.
And in his hand was the little black recording unit he had just ripped from the wall.
Rachel's voice came through my phone.
"Maddie?"
"Yes."
"Tell the officer what you're looking at."
I did.
Bradley's face went white.
Officer Delgado stopped halfway down the stairs.
"Sir."
Bradley slowly turned.
"Put that device on the table."
He stared at me.
Then at the officer.
Then at the recorder in his hand.
May you like
For the first time all night, he looked genuinely terrified.
Because destroying evidence is much harder to call a joke.
