Chapter 8 - The Truth Behind the Third Suitcase
An hour later, the house was finally silent. The police cruisers had driven away, their red light bars fading into the night. Evelyn had locked herself in the guest bedroom downstairs, weeping silently.
I carried the three suitcases out to my SUV parked in the driveway. The rain had begun to fall, a steady, cool drizzle that washed away the oppressive heat of the summer night.
Owen sat in the front passenger seat, looking out at the dark trees, while Lily was already fast asleep in the back, her small arms wrapped tight around her teddy bear.
I sat in the driver’s seat, popped open the third suitcase once more, and pulled out a small black flash drive hidden in the interior lining.
This was what Grant had been searching for. Not just bank statements, not just property deeds.
Six months ago, when Grant first started making small, deliberate comments to our friends about my "failing mental health," I knew what he was doing. He was building a defense. He was preparing to take full custody of the children and strip me of my inheritance.
So I bought a small, motion-activated recording device and placed it in his home office desk lamp.
On this drive were hundreds of hours of Grant and Julian discussing their plan. How they were going to slowly drain my family's trust fund, how they were going to convince a doctor to prescribe me anti-anxiety medication to make me look unstable, and how they were going to introduce Tessa to the family to provoke me into an outburst.
May you like
They thought I was helpless. They thought because I stayed quiet while Grant raised his voice, I was weak.
They mistook my restraint for helplessness.
