For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
“Behind the tea?”
Detective Moreno nodded.
“The same tea he makes for you every night?”
“Yes.”
The word barely came out.
Every evening since my surgery, Daniel had followed the same routine.
He would boil the water.
Choose the mug.
Carry it upstairs.
Sit beside me until I drank.
Sometimes I didn’t want it.
He always insisted.
“It’ll settle your stomach.”
“It’ll help you sleep.”
“You need to finish it, Rachel.”
I had thought it was care.
Now I wondered how many nights I had swallowed something I never agreed to take.
Detective Moreno headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Your house.”
“Is Daniel there?”
“He was.”
Was.
That single word terrified me.
“What does that mean?”
“Officers were keeping him outside while they dealt with the scene. When they located the medication, his behavior changed.”
“How?”
“He asked for an attorney.”
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Her answer was immediate.
She wasn’t going to tell me what I wanted to hear.
She was going to follow evidence.
Strangely, that made me trust her more.
“But there’s another issue,” she continued.
“What?”
“The prescription label.”
I stared at her.

“The medication isn’t prescribed to your husband.”
“Then whose is it?”
She hesitated.
“A woman named Rebecca Hale.”
I had never heard that name before.
“Who is she?”
“We’re finding out.”
Daniel and I had been together for thirteen years, married for eleven.
I knew his coworkers.
His cousins.
His old college friends.
His dentist.
His accountant.
I had never heard him mention Rebecca Hale.
“Could it belong to someone who visited?”
“That’s possible.”
“But it was hidden behind my tea.”
“Yes.”
My hands curled around the hospital blanket.
“Detective, please find out who she is.”
“We will.”
Then she left.
The nurse stayed beside me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
I stared at the ceiling and tried to reconstruct the previous month.
Every cup of tea.
Every unexplained nap.
Every morning I woke feeling as though my body had been filled with wet cement.
Daniel had always been there with an explanation.
“Chemo.”
“Pain medication.”
“Your body is healing.”
Once, I had told him I wanted to stop drinking the tea because it made me feel strange.
He laughed.
“Rachel, it’s chamomile.”
The next night he brought it anyway.
I drank half.
He stood beside the bed until I finished the rest.
I suddenly threw the blanket aside.
The nurse stood.
“What is it?”
“My phone.”
“What about it?”
“Daniel changed the passcode.”
“When?”
“After surgery.”
“Why?”
“He said I kept forgetting it.”
She stared at me.
“Did you?”
“I don’t think so.”
That answer frightened me.
I didn’t think so.
How many things had I started doubting because Daniel told me they happened differently?
“He has my phone,” I whispered.
“What?”
“I left without it.”
The nurse immediately reached for hers.
“Tell Detective Moreno.”
I called the number she’d given me.
She answered quickly.
“Moreno.”
“It’s Rachel.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. But Daniel has my phone.”
A pause.
“Your personal cell?”
“Yes. It should be on my bedside table unless he moved it.”
“Is there something on it we need?”
“I don’t know.”
I hated saying that.
Then I remembered.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“My sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“Emily.”
“What about her?”
“She stopped calling.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Did you argue?”
“No.”
At least, I didn’t remember arguing.
“Daniel said she was angry because I kept canceling plans.”
“Did you cancel them?”
“I thought I did.”
The detective went quiet.
“Rachel, what do you mean?”
I closed my eyes.
“I don’t remember sending the messages.”
The nurse looked at me.
“I remember Daniel telling me Emily was upset. He showed me texts where she said she needed space.”
“From your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember seeing the actual conversation?”
“No.”
That realization hit hard.
Daniel had shown me screenshots.
Not the messages inside my phone.
Screenshots.
Detective Moreno’s voice sharpened.
“Do you know your sister’s number?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
I did.
“We’ll contact her.”
“Please don’t scare her.”
“I’ll handle it carefully.”
The call ended.
Twenty minutes later, my hospital-room door opened.
A different officer entered carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was my phone.
“We recovered this from the residence.”
“Where was it?”
He looked at his notes.
“Your husband’s desk drawer.”
My bedroom was upstairs.
Daniel’s office was downstairs.
There was no reason my phone should have been locked inside his desk.
“Can I have it?”
“Detective Moreno asked us to preserve it temporarily because it may contain relevant evidence.”
I nodded.
The officer started to leave.
Then stopped.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Your sister is on her way.”
My breath caught.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know I’m here?”
“Detective Moreno contacted her.”
I felt relief.
Then fear.
What would Emily say?
Had I really been canceling plans?
Had I said cruel things I couldn’t remember?
Forty minutes later, I heard running footsteps in the hallway.
Then Emily appeared.
Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.
She wore sweatpants beneath a long coat.
Her face was wet with tears.
“Rachel.”
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me.
I cried immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
She pulled back.
“For what?”
“For shutting you out.”
Her expression changed.
“You didn’t.”
I stared at her.
“Daniel said—”
“I know what Daniel said.”
Something cold moved through me.
“What do you mean?”
Emily looked toward the nurse.
Then at me.
“Rachel, I’ve been trying to see you for three weeks.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You said you needed space.”
“I never said that.”
My mouth went dry.
“You texted me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes. You said I was overwhelming you.”
Emily shook her head.
“I received messages from your number telling me to stop calling.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“I didn’t send them.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the wording didn’t sound like you.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.
“I kept them.”
She opened the conversation.
There were dozens of messages.
From my number.
Stop calling.
I need peace.
Daniel is taking care of me.
You’re making my recovery harder.
Please respect my marriage.
I stared at the screen.
“I never wrote these.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
“I knew something was wrong.”
“Why didn’t you come over?”
“I did.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“Twice.”
My skin prickled.
“What happened?”
“Daniel wouldn’t let me inside.”
“He told me you never came.”
“The first time, he said you were asleep.”
I closed my eyes.
“The second time?”
Emily hesitated.
“The second time he said you didn’t want to see me.”
I began crying again.
Emily squeezed my hand.
“I almost believed him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Mom called me.”
I froze.
Our mother lived nearly four hours away.
“What did Mom say?”
“She said she’d been getting strange texts too.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind?”
“That you were tired of everyone treating you like you were dying.”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
Emily swallowed.
“Then Mom tried calling you.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel answered.”
My stomach dropped.
“He told her you were sleeping.”
“When?”
“Last Thursday.”
Last Thursday.
I remembered that day.
Barely.
Daniel brought me tea after lunch.
I woke after sunset.
“He said I slept all afternoon.”
Emily stared at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was another piece.
Then Emily said something that made my blood run cold.
“Rachel, Mom heard you in the background.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“She heard you say something.”
“What did I say?”
“She couldn’t understand all of it.”
Emily’s fingers tightened around mine.
“But she heard you say, ‘Daniel, stop.’”
The room became silent.
I looked at the nurse.
Her face had gone pale.
“Why didn’t Mom call the police?”
“She tried calling you again. Daniel texted from your phone saying you’d had a nightmare.”
I stared at Emily’s screen.
My own number.
My own identity.
Used to make everyone disappear.
Then Detective Moreno returned.
She wasn’t alone.
A man in a dark jacket followed her.
She introduced him as Detective Lawson.
“Rachel, we need to ask Emily some questions too.”
“About the messages?”
“About everything.”
Emily nodded.
Detective Moreno looked at me.
“We identified Rebecca Hale.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who is she?”
“She worked at a rehabilitation facility your husband visited last year.”
“Why would Daniel visit a rehabilitation facility?”
“We’re still determining that.”
“Is she a nurse?”
“No.”
“Patient?”
Moreno hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then how did Daniel know her?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Can you ask her?”
Detective Lawson glanced at Moreno.
That tiny movement told me something was wrong.
“What?”
Moreno pulled the chair closer.
“Rebecca Hale died eight months ago.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
“We’re waiting for complete records.”
“Detective.”
She sighed.
“Her death was initially ruled an accidental overdose.”
Nobody spoke.
The nurse slowly sat down.
I could hear the hospital monitor beside me.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“Her medication is in my house.”
“Yes.”
“Eight months after she died.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Emily.
Her face was white.
“Did Daniel know her?”
“We’re investigating.”
I remembered something.
Eight months ago, Daniel had taken several weekend trips.
He told me they were for work.
Boston.
Philadelphia.
Baltimore.
I never questioned him.
“Where was Rebecca from?”
“Baltimore.”
My heart stopped.
Emily whispered my name.
I couldn’t answer.
Detective Moreno noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
“Daniel went to Baltimore eight months ago.”
“How many times?”
“At least twice.”
“Why?”
“He said work.”
“What does your husband do?”
“He’s an insurance broker.”
The two detectives exchanged another look.
This one was different.
“What?” I demanded.
Detective Lawson spoke.
“Rebecca Hale had a life insurance policy.”
My hands went numb.
“No.”
“Rachel—”
“No.”
“Please listen.”
“Who was the beneficiary?”
Neither detective answered immediately.
They didn’t need to.
But Lawson finally said it.
“Not Daniel.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Then he continued.
“The beneficiary was Rebecca’s fiancé.”
I almost laughed from relief.
Until Detective Moreno placed a photograph on the hospital tray.
It showed Rebecca beside a man.
The photograph looked several years old.
Rebecca was smiling.
The man beside her had one arm around her waist.
I stared at his face.
It wasn’t Daniel.
But I knew him.
I had seen him at our house.
At Christmas.
At barbecues.
At my birthday.
He had even visited me in the hospital after my surgery.
I whispered his name.
“Mark.”
Emily leaned closer.
“Who is he?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the photograph.
“Daniel’s business partner.”
Detective Moreno nodded.
Then she placed a second document beside the photograph.
“Rebecca Hale died four days after this policy became active.”
My stomach turned.
“How much?”
“Three million dollars.”
I stared at the detectives.
Daniel.
Mark.
Rebecca.
The hidden sedatives.
My new two-million-dollar policy.
Suddenly my marriage didn’t feel like the only thing being investigated.
Detective Moreno gathered the papers.
“Rachel, I need you to think very carefully.”
“About what?”
“Whether Daniel or Mark ever discussed insurance around you before your cancer diagnosis.”
I started to say no.
Then a memory surfaced.
Dinner at our house.
Six months before my diagnosis.
Daniel pouring wine.
Mark laughing.
The two of them talking about risk.
And Mark saying something I had dismissed as an insurance joke.
Everybody is worth more dead than they realize.
I told Detective Moreno.
Her expression hardened.
Then her phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her eyes immediately went to Detective Lawson.
“What happened?” I asked.
Moreno didn’t answer at first.
Then she looked at me.
“Officers returned to your house with authorization to secure additional evidence.”
“And?”
“They found paperwork in Daniel’s office.”
My throat tightened.
“What kind of paperwork?”
She hesitated.
“Another life insurance application.”
“Mine?”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
Detective Moreno looked toward Emily.
My sister’s smile disappeared.
Moreno lowered her voice.
“Emily’s.”

PART 5 — THE POLICY WITH MY SISTER’S NAME

Emily stared at Detective Moreno.
“My life insurance application?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have life insurance.”
“That’s why we need to understand what this document is.”
Emily shook her head.
“I never applied for anything.”
Detective Lawson placed a clear evidence sleeve on the hospital tray.
Inside was a photocopy of an application.
I couldn’t read every line from the bed.
But I could see Emily’s full name.
Her date of birth.
Her address.
And near the bottom, a signature.
Emily leaned closer.
“That isn’t mine.”
“You’re certain?” Lawson asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Have you ever signed insurance paperwork through Daniel?”
“No.”
“Financial paperwork?”
“No.”
“Anything he might have kept a copy of?”
Emily stopped.
Her face changed.
“What?” I asked.
“Two years ago.”
“What happened?”
“When I refinanced my condo, Daniel offered to help me compare policies because he said I was overpaying for homeowners insurance.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you give him documents?”
“A whole folder.”
“What was in it?”
“Tax forms. Mortgage statements. Copies of my ID. Everything.”
Detective Moreno and Lawson exchanged a glance.
“Did that folder contain your Social Security number?” Lawson asked.
“Yes.”
“Signature samples?”
“Probably.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
I reached for her hand.
“How much was the policy?”
Moreno answered.
“One and a half million dollars.”
Emily stared at her.
“And who gets it if I die?”
“We’re still confirming the beneficiary information.”
“Tell me what’s on the application.”
Moreno hesitated.
“A trust.”
“What trust?”
“The Hale-Mercer Family Protection Trust.”
Nobody in the room recognized the name.
But one word hit me immediately.
“Hale?”
Detective Moreno nodded.
“As in Rebecca Hale.”
The air seemed to leave the room.
Emily sat down.
“I don’t understand.”
Neither did I.
Rebecca had been dead eight months.
Her medication was hidden in my kitchen.
Her fiancé had collected a three-million-dollar insurance payout.
And now a trust carrying her surname appeared on an application for a policy my sister had never requested.
“What does Mercer mean?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Moreno said.
My mind raced.
“Could it be Mark’s last name?”
“No. His surname is Dalton.”
“Daniel?”
“Whitaker.”
“Rebecca’s fiancé?”
“Mark Dalton.”
“Then who is Mercer?”
“We’re working on that.”
Emily stared at the application.
“Was this policy active?”
“That is one of the most important questions we’re trying to answer.”
My sister squeezed my hand.
“What about Rachel’s two-million-dollar policy?”
“Also under review.”
“Same trust?”
“No.”
“Who gets hers?”
Detective Moreno looked at me.
“According to the information we have right now, Daniel is the primary beneficiary.”
I expected that answer.
It still hurt.
Not because husbands weren’t normally beneficiaries.
But because my husband had been secretly giving me something that could make me sleep while telling everyone cancer was destroying my mind.
My phone was hidden in his desk.
He had isolated me from my family.
And there was now a policy worth two million dollars if I died.
The nurse interrupted quietly.
“Detective, can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“If Rachel’s husband was administering medication without her knowledge, could her pharmacy records show anything unusual?”
Moreno nodded.
“We’ve already requested preservation of relevant records.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re making sure nothing disappears while investigators determine what legal process is necessary to obtain it.”
That word made me shiver.
Disappear.
How much of my life had Daniel already made disappear?
My conversations.
My memories.
My family.
My ability to trust myself.
Emily suddenly stood.
“I need to call Mom.”
“Not yet,” Moreno said.
Emily looked offended.
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know who else may be involved.”
“You think our mother is involved?”
“No.”
“Then why can’t I tell her?”
“Because information spreads. Right now, Daniel knows we’re investigating the incident involving Rachel. He does not necessarily know everything we’ve found.”
Emily slowly lowered her phone.
“You don’t want him knowing what you know.”
“Exactly.”
Then Moreno looked at me.
“Rachel, has Daniel contacted you?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t contact him.”
“I won’t.”
“If he calls from another number, don’t answer.”
I nodded.
“If anyone contacts you claiming Daniel sent them, tell hospital security immediately.”
That frightened me.
“Do you think he’ll come here?”
“I don’t know.”
The nurse spoke.
“He already followed us once tonight.”
Moreno’s expression tightened.
“We’re taking precautions.”
The hospital moved me to another room shortly afterward.
My name was restricted from general visitor information.
Security was notified.
Emily stayed.
The nurse finally left after making me promise to call her.
Before leaving, she hugged me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She shook her head.
“You were the one who told the truth.”
“If you hadn’t forgotten your bag—”
“But I did.”
She gave me a tired smile.
“Sometimes that’s enough.”
After she left, Emily sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For almost giving up on you.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve broken the door down.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“You’re five-foot-three.”
“I would’ve found a chair.”
I laughed.
It hurt my incision.
But I laughed.
And for a few seconds, I felt like myself again.
Then Emily’s expression became serious.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“There’s something else.”
My smile disappeared.
“What?”
“I didn’t tell the detectives because I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Tell me.”
“About a month ago, Daniel called me.”
“A month ago?”
“Before those strange messages started.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked questions about my condo.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Whether the mortgage was paid down. Whether I still had the same job. Whether I had updated my will.”
My stomach turned.
“Emily.”
“I know.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Not much. I joked that he sounded like my accountant.”
“Did he ask anything else?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
“He asked whether Mom was still my emergency contact.”
I sat completely still.
“Why would he ask that?”
“He said he was updating family information in case your treatment got worse.”
That made no sense.
My treatment had nothing to do with Emily’s emergency contact.
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
“Who is it?”
“Mom.”
I breathed out.
Then Emily added, “But he asked whether I had a secondary contact.”
“Who did you say?”
“You.”
The room went quiet.
If something happened to Emily, I might be contacted.
If something happened to me too—
I didn’t finish the thought.
“Call Moreno.”
Emily did.
The detectives returned twenty minutes later.
Emily repeated everything.
This time Lawson wrote down every word.
“When exactly did Daniel call?” he asked.
Emily searched her phone.
“August eighteenth.”
Lawson looked at Moreno.
“What?” I asked.
Neither answered immediately.
“What happened August eighteenth?”
Moreno checked something on her phone.
“That was the date on Emily’s insurance application.”
Emily’s face drained of color.
“He called me the same day?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“He was collecting information.”
“That is one possibility,” Moreno said carefully.
Lawson asked Emily to forward the call information and any messages she still had from Daniel.
Then Moreno’s phone rang.
She answered.
Mostly listened.
Her expression became increasingly serious.
Finally she said, “Send it.”
She ended the call.
“What now?” I asked.
“We found Mercer.”
I sat straighter.
“Who?”
“Thomas Mercer.”
“Do I know him?”
“I was going to ask you.”
She showed me a photograph.
Older man.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Maybe sixty.
I stared.
Nothing.
Then something about his eyes felt familiar.
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily leaned over.
Her reaction was immediate.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at her.
“You know him?”
“Rachel, that’s the man from Daniel’s office Christmas party.”
The memory returned.
Three years earlier.
A crowded hotel ballroom.
Daniel introducing me to clients and colleagues.
An older man who held my hand slightly too long.
Daniel had called him Tom.
“What does he do?” I asked.
Detective Moreno answered.
“He used to work in insurance underwriting.”
“Used to?”
“He lost his license six years ago.”
“Why?”
“Fraud.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“Falsified policy documents, altered beneficiary records, and applications submitted without proper authorization.”
Emily whispered, “Exactly what happened to me.”
Moreno nodded.
“Potentially.”
“Why isn’t he in prison?”
“He served time.”
“And now he’s connected to Daniel?”
“We’re investigating the extent of that relationship.”
“What about Rebecca?”
Moreno looked at me.
“Thomas Mercer was her uncle.”
There it was.
Hale-Mercer.
Rebecca Hale.
Thomas Mercer.
The trust.
“How deep does this go?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Did Thomas benefit from Rebecca’s death?”
“We’re tracing the money.”
Then Lawson’s phone buzzed.
He opened a message.
His expression changed.
He showed Moreno.
“What?” Emily asked.
Moreno looked at us.
“Rebecca wasn’t the first.”
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
“What do you mean?”
“Investigators found another insurance claim connected to Thomas Mercer.”
“Who died?”
“A man named Steven Cole.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
“Accidental medication interaction.”
My blood went cold.
Medication.
Again.
“Who received the insurance money?”
“A company.”
“What company?”
“Dalton & Whitaker Risk Solutions.”
I stopped breathing.
Dalton.
Whitaker.
Mark Dalton.
Daniel Whitaker.
My husband’s company.
Emily stood so quickly her chair scraped across the floor.
“They got money when Steven died?”
“We’re confirming exactly where the proceeds ultimately went.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
I stared at Moreno.
Rebecca.
Steven.
Me.
Maybe Emily.
This wasn’t beginning to look like one violent husband hiding what he’d done.
It looked like something organized.
Something that had existed before my cancer.
Before my surgery.
Possibly before Daniel ever started hurting me.
“Where is Daniel now?” I asked.
Detective Moreno didn’t answer.
My fear sharpened.
“Where is my husband?”
Lawson stepped toward the door.
“We’re finding out.”
“What does that mean?”
Moreno’s phone rang again.
She answered immediately.
“Yes?”
Her expression froze.
“When?”
A pause.
“Who authorized that?”
Another pause.
“Lock it down. Nobody touches anything.”
She hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
Moreno looked furious.
“Daniel isn’t at the house anymore.”
Emily grabbed my hand.
“Did he run?”
“We don’t know.”
“But you had officers there.”
“He was released from the immediate scene while the investigation continued. At that stage, they did not yet have grounds to hold him on every issue we’re now uncovering.”
“Where did he go?”
“We’re locating him.”
My heart hammered.
Then Lawson’s phone rang.
He answered.
“This is Lawson.”
His eyes went to Moreno.
“When?”
He listened.
“Send me the camera footage.”
Then he hung up.
“We have him.”
“Where?” Moreno asked.
“Not him physically. His vehicle.”
He turned toward me.
“Rachel, your house has a doorbell camera, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Who controls the account?”
“Daniel.”
“Your neighbor across the street has one too?”
“I think so.”
“The neighbor’s camera recorded Daniel leaving approximately forty minutes ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was he alone?”
Lawson hesitated.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who was with him?”
“We’re trying to identify the passenger.”
Emily tightened her grip on my hand.
Then Moreno’s phone buzzed with the footage.
She opened it.
Watched.
Stopped.
Zoomed.
Her face changed.
She showed Lawson.
He cursed under his breath.
“What?” I demanded.
Moreno turned the screen toward me.
The image was grainy.
Daniel was climbing into the driver’s side of our SUV.
A second person was entering the passenger side.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Older.
I recognized him now.
Thomas Mercer.
“They’re together,” Emily whispered.
Before anyone could answer, another message arrived.
Lawson read it aloud.
“Vehicle located.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking structure.”
My chest tightened.
“They’re leaving?”
“Possibly.”
Then a second message appeared.
Lawson stared at it.
“No.”
“What?” Moreno asked.
“The SUV is empty.”
“Terminal cameras?”
“They’re checking.”
I looked from one detective to the other.
“Please tell me what’s happening.”
Moreno’s phone rang again.
She answered on speaker.
A man’s voice came through.
“Detective, we’ve got Whitaker on camera entering Terminal B.”
“Mercer?”
“With him.”
“Destination?”
“We’re working on it.”
Then the voice paused.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Whitaker wasn’t carrying luggage.”
Moreno frowned.
“Then why go to the airport?”
“He wasn’t there to fly.”
My skin prickled.
The voice continued.
“He went to a locker area near ground transportation.”
Nobody spoke.
“What did he take?” Lawson asked.
“A black duffel bag.”
Moreno’s eyes narrowed.
“Do we know what’s inside?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is he now?”
“We lost visual for approximately four minutes near the service corridor.”
My heart began racing.
“Then?”
The voice on the phone went quiet.
“Detective, Mercer came back out.”
“And Whitaker?”
“He didn’t.”
Emily looked at me.
Moreno stepped toward the door.
“Find Daniel.”
“We’re trying.”
Then the officer on the phone said something that stopped her.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Mercer wasn’t alone when he left the airport.”
“Who was with him?”
“We’re running facial recognition manually against the names you’ve given us.”
A pause.
Then the answer came.
“Mark Dalton.”
Daniel’s business partner.
Rebecca’s fiancé.
The man who received three million dollars after she died.
I felt my stomach drop.
“Where’s Daniel?”
No one answered.
And suddenly the investigation had a new question.
Not whether my husband was running.
But whether the two men connected to multiple suspicious insurance policies had just made him disappear.