Chapter 8 - DEAD ON PAPER
Nobody spoke.
Daniel looked confused.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
I leaned toward the screen.
“Which wife did he say was dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“What name?”
He thought.
“Claire.”
The room disappeared around me.
Natalie whispered, “Claire.”
I couldn’t answer.
Detective Harris took over.
“When did Ryan tell you she died?”
“About six months ago.”
“How?”
“Car accident, I think.”
My hands went numb.
Harris asked more questions, but I barely heard them.
Six months ago, Ryan had told somebody I was dead.
Six months ago, he had opened a massive insurance policy in my name.
Six months ago, our marriage had seemed perfectly normal.
I remembered that time.
We took a weekend trip to Nashville.
He bought me earrings.
He posted a photo of us online with the caption:
My whole world.
Apparently, I was worth more to him as paperwork.
Daniel agreed to cooperate.
Before the call ended, he added one more thing.
“Ryan asked me about death certificates.”
Harris froze.
“What about them?”
“How hard they were to verify.”
A chill went through the room.
That night, I stayed at Natalie’s apartment.
I hated needing protection.
But I hated pretending I didn’t need it more.
At midnight, Natalie found me sitting on the kitchen floor with a glass of water.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She sat beside me.
“Good answer.”
I laughed weakly.
Then I started crying.
Not the pretty kind.
Not silent tears.
I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
“I loved him.”
Natalie said nothing.
“I really loved him.”
“I know.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“He lied to me every day.”
“He lied to me for twelve years.”
I looked at her.
“How did you stop loving him?”
She stared at the opposite wall.
“I didn’t.”
That surprised me.
“I stopped trusting him first. Then I stopped recognizing him. The love took longer.”
I understood that.
At 2:00 a.m., we finally went to bed.
At 6:12, my phone rang.
Detective Harris.
“We got into the flash drive.”
I sat straight up.
“What’s on it?”
“Records. Passwords. Scans of IDs.”
“Mine?”
“Yours, Natalie’s, Megan’s and several others.”
“How many?”
“Eleven women.”
My stomach dropped.
“Eleven?”
“Not all romantic relationships. Some appear to be clients, former employees or business contacts.”
“What else?”
A pause.
“Claire, there’s a folder with your name.”
I closed my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“It contains your insurance documents, vehicle information, work schedule and copies of your medical records.”
Natalie was awake now, watching me.
Then Harris continued.
“There are also photographs.”
“What kind?”
“Photographs of your car.”
My throat tightened.
“So?”
“Close-ups.”
“Of what?”
“The brake lines.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
Harris said quietly, “One photo appears to show them partially cut.”
